


Creature of Darkness

by bunilicious



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: 18th Century, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Church Sex, Cunnilingus, Devoted Reylo, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Gothic Elements, Horses die, I'm Going to Hell, Inspector Ben Solo, Kisses, Longing, Loss of Virginity, Mutual Pining, Romance, Sleepy Hollow - Freeform, Smut, Thirsty Rey, Vaginal Sex, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey, graveyards, lots of Dutch names, lots of periwigs, thirsty reylo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-06-30 09:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 37,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15748527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunilicious/pseuds/bunilicious
Summary: Rey shook her head, her gaze maintaining its earnest quality. “I think you are just what Sleepy Hollow needs.” She placed her hand on his bicep once more, the movement unleashing a new flood of desire inside him. “You are just what I need,” she added, her voice a soothing murmur to his ears. “I told you before, Ben. We are meant to help each other. I’ve dreamt it.”Straightening his back, Ben attempted to maintain his composure. He berated himself with the reminder that he came to Sleepy Hollow to investigate, not to succumb to a seduction by the most beguiling woman he had ever met. “Dreams do not subscribe to logic. All investigations are based on deductive reasoning.”Rey shook her head again, the candlelight shining on her brown curls like a golden crown. “Not this one,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand in an evident sign of departure. “I assure you, Ben, this investigation will be quite different.”-----A REYLO SLEEPY HOLLOW AU





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Reylo AU based on the movie Sleepy Hollow (1999), which you don't have to watch in order to read the story. At the same time, this fic isn't a carbon copy of the movie, as I've had to modify a few things while adapting this story to suit our couple. I hope you enjoy reading the story, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Special thank you to the ladies of The Writing Den for the enthusiasm, support, and amazing sprints! ;)

_Sleepy Hollow, 1799_

 

 

For the first time in years, he dreamt of his mother.

 

It was an old dream, a dream of a childhood memory marred by pain, misery, and sorrow. He glimpsed her sitting by the fireplace, her long brown hair flowing in the firelight as if it were a halo, her head swaying like a leaf in the autumn breeze. She held a thin stick in her hand, drawing strange circles in the ashes of the roaring fireplace.

 

“This will keep you safe, my son,” she’d say in her dulcet voice. “It will protect you from all who seek to harm you.”

 

In his dream, Ben would gaze upon his mother’s graceful movements, the markings on the ash a mere ambiguous vision, too complex to register in the mind of the then seven-year-old boy, the realization of his mother’s occupation floating just beyond his reach.

 

“You will be safe, Ben,” her voice echoed, as if she were somewhere in the distance instead of right in front of him.

 

“Will I?” the young boy asked, apprehension coating his voice.

 

“Yes,” his mother promised, “I will protect you for as long as I can, my son.” Her voice grew dim, like a fading light threatened to be consumed by darkness. “And when I can no longer protect you, someone else will come and help you.”

 

His young eyes welled with tears, the thought of loss unbearable. “Nobody can help me,” he sniffed.

 

“That is not true,” his mother said, hopeful even in his dreams. “I have dreamt it. As have you.”

 

Uttering those fateful words, she turned away from the fire, looking at him over her shoulder, her eyes filled with kindness as her presence vanished, until there was nothing left but an empty and dark void.

 

“She will help you, my son,” the voice echoed in the darkness. “You are meant to help her. And she is meant to help you.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Benjamin Solo should have known the dreams would start again, just as he grew close to completing the arduous journey from the city of New York, to the isolated hamlet known as Sleepy Hollow.

 

He came to life with a gasp, as if fearing this old dream would suffocate him by wrapping its gnarly tendrils around his neck, the pale expanse of skin just barely exposed by his dark shirt and pristine white cravat. The confines of his carriage only contributed to the suffocating atmosphere which seemed to reign supreme in this part of the world.

 

Ben chanced a glance outside his window, the falling golden leaves a mere distraction in comparison to the sight that stretched before him. The tree was unmistakably ancient, having sprung from the earth centuries before Ben’s time, a gnarled monstrosity that had lost almost all its branches and leaves until it resembled a nefarious trident.

 

The Devil’s own instrument in the flesh. If Ben were a religious man, he would have crossed himself then and there.

 

All too soon, the tree fell away from view, and the forest made way for the houses which dotted the autumnal landscape, wood and stone structures of varying heights and sizes. The houses were Dutch and English in style, some relatively new, yet others miraculously still standing after the triumphant end of a war marked by sacrifice.

 

A war that had claimed almost all his kin.

 

The carriage stopped in front of an imposing country manor, the largest in this old and venerable settlement. To the untrained eye, the stone walls and steep roof did nothing to distinguish the large house from its neighbors in style, but in Ben’s estimation, there was something in the air that set this building apart from its neighbors.

 

An ancient oak tree rose to the left of the entrance, an old thing that seemed to have prematurely lost its leaves. Under normal circumstances, without the pressure of an impending investigation into a string of horrific murders, the old tree would have contributed to the manor’s stately appearance. Yet now, the fading sunlight and the bare and gnarly branches gave the manor an eerie appearance.

 

As Ben opened the carriage door, a cold gust of wind slapped him in the face, and a strange unsettled feeling took root deep in his chest, as if the oaken branches had sprung from their resting place and threatened to devour him whole. The oak was a miniature version of the trident-shaped tree which had greeted him in the forest, yet nonetheless, it unsettled him as much as its older and larger sibling.

 

Abandoning the safety of his carriage, Ben looked up to catch a better glimpse of the house, all stone and large windows, with old grey shutters that looked as if they had survived an eternity of rain and hail.

 

While the manor’s exterior looked grim and lifeless, the inside was beaming with life, if the candlelight blazing from behind the thick glass windows served as any indication. Ben vaguely registered the sound of chatter, infused by the unmistakable notes of a few violins, in what seemed like a lively performance of a country jig. It was as if Sleepy Hollow had forgotten the string of beheadings which had been plaguing them for weeks, culminating with the ghastly murder of the esteemed van Hux family just earlier this week, as September made way for the month of October.

 

“It seems I have arrived at an inconvenient moment,” Ben said to the driver, who, in the absence of a servant to greet them, unloaded the worn travelling trunk strapped to the back of the carriage, grumbling at the inconvenience.

 

The burly man deposited the trunk on the ground and, on impact, mud splattered across Ben’s face.

 

“Quite so,” Ben remarked, using his sleeve to wipe off the offending spots in absence of a handkerchief.

 

If the driver seemed troubled by his rude gesture, he showed no indication, his posture as straight as a rod, his arms crossed in full expectation of the generous payment Ben had promised.

 

Reaching inside one of his coat pockets, Ben obliged the man, producing a small leather pouch filled almost to the brim with coins. He handed the money over to the driver, who grumbled a thank you before quickly departing, urging the horses on with firm resolve. He drove as if fearing the wrath of the mysterious figure responsible for the gruesome murders, unspeakable crimes which had been haunting Sleepy Hollow for several weeks.

 

Soon enough, Ben was left alone at the entrance, his trunk almost swimming in muck and grime, with no servant or master in sight to welcome him. Indeed, he remarked as he stared at the large well-lit windows, contemplating the celebrations he could glimpse from within, his arrival was not wholly unexpected.

 

The local magistrate, Orson Van Krennic, had written to ask for the authorities in New York to send a constable to aid in in the investigation. The event took place only a few days before Van Krennic’s untimely demise, beheaded by a mysterious figure that villagers dubbed as the Headless Horseman, a stout figure wearing a Hessian uniform, sitting atop a black steed that knew no rest. The letter had also been signed by Lor van Tekka, one of the prosperous elders in the community, who had graciously volunteered to provide the police constable with the necessary lodgings and tools to aid in his investigation.

 

Van Krennic’s missive had gone unanswered for weeks by the New York authorities, people who held much more power and influence than a novice inspector such as Ben Solo could ever dream to possess. These powerful men were all convinced the so-called Headless Horseman was a hoax, a trick concocted by the British to meddle with America’s hard-won independence. It was only the van Hux murder that spurred them on at last, the loss of a well-known and influential family beyond the confines of Sleepy Hollow, arising suspicions of a conspiracy. The supernatural element detailed in Van Krennic’s letter remained, still, in the realm of disbelief.

 

As Ben looked up to witness the approaching darkness, the final sunrays retreating as if in fear of a foreboding omen, he wondered if the deceased magistrate’s words held a glimmer of truth. The locals currently partaking in the merriment of the van Tekka household, however, seemed unaffected by the recent events, and Ben could not imagine them organizing such a festivity to honor his arrival.

 

Taking in his dismal surroundings for one final moment, Ben climbed the wide stone steps leading up to the entrance. For a few seconds, he regarded the wide door before finally making his arrival known, his knuckles meeting the wood in a firm knock. He knocked six times, yet, despite his efforts, no reply came.

 

The turn of events did not surprise Ben in the least. He surmised that the servants were busy looking after the guests, and that the loud country jig made it impossible for anyone else to hear his desperate knocks. The cold wind grew in intensity, causing the branches of the large oak tree to sway menacingly close to one of the windows, though even that perilous movement had no effect upon the manor’s guests and owners.

 

Drawing up his collar, a bold thought crossed Ben’s mind and, before he could think better or it, his gloved hand gripped the door’s handle and pushed it down. The door mercifully opened, creaking ever so slightly, though even that small noise did not alert the occupants of an intruder.

 

Ben entered the house then, taking in the large hallway and staircase which seemed to dominate the room. Next, he observed the old stone walls decorated with a variety of paintings, a few common hunting scenes and some smaller portraits of men and women he immediately identified as ancestors of Lor van Tekka, simply based on the appearance of their clothing. To Ben’s left, there were a few doors, all closed, likely leading to the kitchens or some private family parlors. To his right, however, stood a large open doorway, and Ben could glimpse a few men and women engaged in a country dance at the back of what looked like a large drawing room, couples who appeared far too busy to pay mind to any new arrival.

 

However, what interested Ben most was the view located close to the front of the room. The whimsical sight seemed at odds with the tumult outside the manor, as well as the monotonous dance at the back of the room.

 

The view left him breathless with anticipation.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The young lady wore a pale-yellow gown, the bodice embroidered with green vines that wrapped around her thin waist like a serpent. Her long hair was tied neatly at the back, brown curls cascading over her shoulders and down to her elbows. She was blindfolded, the thin scarf matching the color of her dress, and her slender arms reached out as she tried to catch one of the young men standing nearby.

 

Ben gazed at her delicate movements, enraptured by this vision of spring, so unusual and unexpected in these dismal and foreboding surroundings.

 

“If you let me catch you,” the lady proclaimed with a saucy smile, “I will give you a kiss.”

 

As soon as she made her announcement, the men tripped over their feet to get to her, shoving and stepping on each other’s toes.

 

“You are all too eager,” she laughed, the sound a dulcet melody to Ben’s ears. “Perhaps I will reconsider my offer.”

 

Ben’s feet moved towards her before he could think, taking long strides as if he feared to lose her from his sight. The reaction stunned him, so new and illogical to his rational mind that he had no knowledge how to decipher or control it.

 

The lady latched onto his arms, her fingers digging into his biceps.

 

“Oh,” she exclaimed, a new and delighted smile etched on her half-covered face. “Who is this?”

 

Her hands wandered upwards, dangerously close to his collar and the exposed skin just above his cravat.

 

“You’re wearing a greatcoat, so you must have just arrived,” she mused, her lips slightly parted as if she were uncovering an intriguing riddle. “Did you arrive for my sake?”

 

Soon enough, her fingers journeyed upwards, resting on his jawline, tracing it ever so gently. Ben gulped, her touch sending warm tendrils coursing through his body, like the sun’s rays during the most enchanting of spring days. She inched closer, and he could smell her scent then, a tantalizing mix of lavender and bracken, a wood nymph sprung from the nearest river, waiting for him to worship at her altar.

 

“Who are you?” she murmured as her fingers stroked his cheeks, so close to touching his lips, parted as they were to exhale the shakiest of breaths.

 

She bit her lower lip, a sign of evident concentration. “Do not tell me,” she continued. “Or you will ruin all the fun.”

 

As she traced his aquiline nose, Ben’s eyes darted across the room, observing how the couples ended their joyful country dance, visibly interested in the curious sight that lay before them. The musicians steadily ceased playing their violins. A group of elders sitting in one of the corners of the room stopped their conversation, squinting as they watched the scene unfold. Meanwhile, the young men vying for the lady’s interest openly gaped, envious at the attention lavished upon the unknown intruder.

 

His left eye twitched, a childhood habit Ben always failed to temper. To say the unrelenting stares made him uncomfortable was an understatement, yet his heart pounded with anticipation, preening under the lady’s attention.

 

“I don’t think I know you, sir,” the lady in question said, but her tone was far from offended, maintaining the melodic and elegant sound that enraptured Ben so effectively. She was both wood nymph and siren, a delectable and irresistible union.

 

If she noticed the sudden silence that stretched across the room, the siren gave no indication. Her manner maintained its cheerfulness, unbothered by the judgement of the world. She appeared content to enjoy her innocent game, a simple and uncomplicated merriment that clashed with the tumultuous waves raging within his soul. His heart pounded, as if she had dragged him from the safety of the shore and thrust him into the depths of an endless ocean.

 

“But that does not matter,” she told him, shaking her head, letting those long brown curls dance around her face. “I shall welcome you with an open heart.”

 

She went on her tiptoes and kissed him, her lips soft and inviting as they touched his right cheek, a breadth away from the corner of his lips. If he had tilted his head to the side ever so slightly, he would have brushed his own lips with hers, tasted her sweet moans and claimed them as his own.

 

Ben stilled at the last thought, waves of panic washing away those heady and confusing thoughts, desires which clashed with the nature of his profession. He was a man of logic, a novice police constable set on proving himself to his superiors, not a lovesick callow boy enraptured by a beguiling wood nymph with the voice of a siren.

 

“Rey,” he heard one of the elders exclaim, his tone laced with disapproval. “Stop this nonsense.”           

 

“There now,” the wood nymph said after the too-brief kiss, her charming smile unaffected by the man’s chastisement.

 

 _Rey_.

 

The one-syllable name danced in Ben’s head, as thoughts of how well it suited her burst forth like a powerful ocean wave. Her dress was the color of sunshine, her smile the foreteller of dawn, her scent the embodiment of the warmest months that seemed so out of reach in this part of the world.

 

“I am merely welcoming our guest, father,” Rey said as she untied the blindfold. “Like the gracious host that –”

 

She dropped her blindfold, her hazel eyes meeting his brown orbs, her lips parted as she exhaled a shaky breath that matched his own.

 

“– I am…”

 

“Please excuse my daughter, sir,” her father approached them, his wobbly gait betraying his advanced age far more effectively than his physical appearance.

 

The old man was quite tall, almost as tall as Ben himself, and his blue eyes were both alert and weary. He wore simple, yet well-made clothes which betrayed his prosperous financial status: black leather shoes with silver buckles, white silk stockings, light brown breeches and a matching brown coat and waistcoat, a pristine white shirt with ruffles and, finally, a white periwig that matched his snowy eyebrows. His choice of clothing contrasted heavily with Ben’s all-black and more practical attire.

 

“I am Lor van Tekka,” the man said, nodding in greeting. “And you are?”

 

“Right,” Ben said, running a hand through his black hair to calm himself. The warmth of Rey’s lips on his cheek persisted, despite the brief kiss she had given him. “I-I am Benjamin Solo, sir. T-the police constable –”

 

“Oh, indeed,” Mr. van Tekka exclaimed. “We were not expecting you, sir. Certainly not today.”

 

Ben furrowed his brows, attempting to ignore the incipient murmurs from the audience witnessing this exchange. “Surely, you must have received my letter?”

 

For a reason he could not explain, his eyes landed on Rey, only to be rewarded with her very confused, yet unsettlingly direct gaze, her hazel eyes so earnest and piercing that they seemed to peer into his very soul.

 

“We have received no letter, Constable Solo”, Mr. van Tekka continued. “It must have been lost in the mail. Otherwise, we would have been prepared to receive you properly.”

 

“You need not worry on my account,” Ben replied, his gaze finding it difficult to leave Rey’s own. She tilted her head to the right, her neat brows furrowed as if she found herself in the middle of solving a complicated riddle, a reaction that both puzzled and intrigued him.

 

Mr. van Tekka coughed, interrupting his reverie. He signaled two serving boys to help Ben with his luggage. “You must be exhausted from your journey, Mr. Solo,” he said.

 

“But New York is not that far away from us, father,” Rey interrupted, her gaze travelling down Ben’s body, sending a jolt of awareness through his tall frame. “Perhaps you could join us, Mr. Solo.” She bit her lower lip. “If you are not too tired.”

 

His heart pounded. “I-I could certainly join you, Miss van Tekka,” he said, his breath embarrassingly uneven.

 

“It is settled then,” Rey beamed as she turned to her father. “I will show Mr. Solo to his chamber.”

 

“Rey,” her father protested. “Your stepmother can –”

 

She shook her head, her brown curls dancing in the candlelight. “You need not worry on my behalf, father. Mr. Solo is perfectly safe with me. You cannot expect Phasma to play hostess on her birthday.”

 

“It is not proper, Rey –” he insisted, but she cut him off with a casual gesture.

 

“Mr. Solo is here to help us, father,” she said, her hands latching onto Ben’s bicep, her gaze meeting his with conviction, eagerness, and something primordial in nature. “I would trust him with my life.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

“You should be very comfortable in here,” Rey said, drawing up the curtains. She then opened the window, and a wave of fresh air bathed the bedchamber in an instant. “One of the servants will start a fire soon enough for you.”

 

“Thank you,” Ben said, eyeing his dirty travelling trunk, his mind occupied with thoughts of whether it would be necessary for him to change into something more appropriate for the festivities.

 

“You need not worry about your clothing,” Rey said, her silent steps traversing the room to stand beside him. “Your attire becomes you. I cannot picture you wearing anything else.”

 

She rested her hand on the worn trunk, unbothered by its sorry state. “By the time the festivities are over you will have a nice warm bed and bath waiting for you. I will make sure of it.”

 

He gulped, mesmerized by the sight of her small hand, watching as she fumbled with the trunk’s fastenings. “I-I believe we should go downstairs, Miss van Tekka. Your father will be worried.”

 

Rey chuckled, a melodic sound that seeped into his very soul. “Are you afraid of me, Mr. Solo?”

 

Ben furrowed his brows. “Should I be?”

 

“Never,” she shook her head. “I will protect you. Help you solve this case that has brought you here.”

 

Ben regarded her straight posture, her small shoulders, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath. “How will you protect me?” he asked. “You should not make promises unless you are certain you will keep them.”

 

“Oh, but I will keep my promises,” Rey exclaimed, her hands reaching out to touch his own. Her warmth enveloped his cold fingers more effectively than the sun’s soothing rays. “I have seen you somewhere before,” she added, her voice now barely above a whisper. “In a dream.”

 

Her hands brought his own to her chest, so close he could almost touch her pale-yellow bodice with the swirling green vines, a Garden of Eden in the shape of a delicate fabric.

 

“In a nightmare,” she murmured.

 

Rey’s gaze met his own then, searching and oddly knowing, as if the riddle she had tried to piece downstairs finally revealed itself to her. “You are meant to help me. And I am meant to help you.”

 

His eyes lowered then, transfixed by the hopeful words coming out of her mouth, her lips the color of a pink and blooming rose just waiting to be plucked.

 

“You may call me Ben,” he whispered, his words trembling with renewed arousal, his hands scorched by waves of desire, his mind a whirlpool of emotions that were both novel and unexplained.

 

“Ben,” she murmured with a smile, testing his name on her lips.

 

How could one person beguile him so swiftly and thoroughly? The things she spoke of were illogical. Dreams and premonitions of things to come were nothing but the product of a fanciful mind. Yet, as Rey stood in front of him, her small hands clasping his own, pledging to help a man she had only just met, he was reminded of a moment from so long ago it might as well have been a passing shadow.

 

He’d heard those words before.   

 

“You may call me Rey,” she whispered, her body moving close to his, so close his fingers now touched her pale-yellow bodice, all silk and gossamer and loveliness.

 

Her eyelids fluttered closed, giving Ben the chance to admire her long dark eyelashes. He bent down his head, inching closer and closer until his lips were a breadth away from hers. Rey’s inviting scent wafted up to his nose, lavender and bracken, carried by the night air like a gift.

 

“Rey,” a stern feminine voice exclaimed, and Ben pulled away from his seductive wood nymph as if he’d flown too close to the sun, the taste of her sweet lips denied to him.

 

Mortified, he looked towards the source of the interruption. The tall blonde woman standing in the doorway was around Ben’s height, her hair tightly pulled back in a simple bun, her dress a dark grey with silver embroidered thorns and roses.

 

“What is the meaning of this, Rey?” the tall lady asked, entering the room in a swift motion.

 

Rey bristled at the disruption, her hands balled into fists at the side of her dress. “Nothing that concerns you, Phasma. I was merely showing Mr. Solo his chamber.”

 

Phasma crossed her arms, the expression on her face betraying her displeasure, her brows furrowed, her stern eyes piercing. “You should be ashamed of your behavior. It does your father no credit,” she warned. “Go downstairs, now. He is asking for you.”

 

With a deep sigh, Rey lowered her head and departed, her fingers digging into her yellow skirt, muttering something almost unintelligible under her breath, a collection of words that sounded close to a curse that jarred with her previously sunny disposition. It was so unexpected that, under normal circumstances, Ben would have laughed himself into an early grave. Yet, Ben remarked as the temptation to fix his gaze upon his leather boots in perpetuity grew, the situation he found himself in was so deeply worrying, that he could not afford the luxury of humor.

 

What had he been thinking?

 

“I am so sorry for my behavior, Mrs. van Tekka,” he said, sweat gathering at his forehead despite the chill in the room.

 

“You must excuse my stepdaughter, Mr. Solo,” Phasma van Tekka said. “She is an incorrigible flirt and her father, bless his heart, spoils her rotten.”

 

She approached him, her hands resting on his travelling trunk, where Rey’s own smaller hand had been just moments ago. “Rey is an only child that came late into his life, you see,” her stepmother added. “I have tried my hardest to instill some proper values in this girl, but to no avail.” A deep sigh preceded the next statement. “She has, I am told, too much of her dear departed mother in her,” the lady of the house resumed. “Though, of course, the previous Mrs. van Tekka was far more subdued by the time _she_ turned nineteen.”

 

The subject of birthdays spurred Ben forward. “I understand it is your birthday today, Mrs. van Tekka,” he said, eager to change the topic of discussion, as well as unwilling to have his own opinion of the daughter of the house tainted by another. “I wish you joy and prosperity,” he continued. “My arrival is indeed ill-timed, and for that, I must apologize.”

 

“Nonsense.” Mrs. van Tekka dismissed his worries with a flick of her wrist. “It is most unfortunate that your letter got lost in the mail, Mr. Solo, but we are pleased to welcome you here in Sleepy Hollow. In fact, my husband wishes to see you in his study immediately.”

 

Ben nodded at that, relieved by the sudden arrival of an excuse to end this uncomfortable conversation. He bowed and immediately dashed out of his bedchamber, surprised he did not trip over his own feet in the process.

 

 

~*~

 

 

A servant carrying an armful of firewood directed him to Mr. van Tekka’s office, one of the many locked rooms Ben had noticed to the left of the hallway when he first entered the old manor. The music had resumed in the large drawing room, and, as Ben went down the stairs, he glimpsed three couples immersed in another country jig, Rey nowhere in sight.

 

“Are you looking for me?” a dulcet voice asked, and he turned around like a moth drawn to a flame.

 

Rey stood in front of the second door to the left of the entrance, the one he suspected led to her father’s study.

 

Despite himself, Ben quirked a brow. “I thought your stepmother told you to go downstairs.”

 

“I am downstairs,” she gestured with her right hand. “The only difference is that I am not in the room Phasma expects me to be in. Does that surprise you?”

 

He suppressed a smile. “Not particularly. But she is right, Rey. What happened in my bedchamber was most inappropriate, and I should apologize for placing you in this predicament. I –”

 

Rey rolled her eyes at his attempt to apologize. “Has my stepmother filled your head with all sorts of nonsense about my character? Has she told you what a wild creature I am?” She moved closer to him as she spoke, aware the music coming from the drawing room shrouded their conversation in secrecy. “Has she told you how my father spoils me rotten?”

 

His left eye twitched, an impulse he once again wished he could control, and Rey noticed his gesture, her own gaze so fixed upon his face. “Surely you can form your own opinion of my character, my dear sir.”

 

Straightening his back, Ben returned her eager gaze. “I am a police constable. It is my duty to remain objective and not let the opinions of others influence my investigation.”

 

Rey tilted her head as if discovering a new riddle to solve. It astonished Ben just how quickly he could associate her movements with her intent. “And what have you discovered so far?”

 

“I think you are a very odd person,” he replied.

 

Her chuckle was as biting as the cold autumn wind in his bedchamber. “You must have met stranger people in your profession, Ben. I assure you I am not that unusual.”

 

He wet his lips. “N-no, not so many. To be honest, this is my first serious case. The authorities in New York cared so little about your predicament, that they sent a mere novice to assist you. I fear I may disappoint you.”

 

The moment he uttered those words, Ben cursed himself. How quickly she disarmed him into admitting his fears, his insecurities…

 

Rey shook her head, her gaze maintaining its earnest quality. “I think you are just what Sleepy Hollow needs.” She placed her hand on his bicep once more, the movement unleashing a new flood of desire inside him. “You are just what I need,” she added, her voice a soothing murmur to his ears. “I told you before, Ben. We are meant to help each other. I’ve dreamt it.”

 

Straightening his back, Ben attempted to maintain his composure. He berated himself with the reminder that he came to Sleepy Hollow to investigate, not to succumb to a seduction by the most beguiling woman he had ever met. “Dreams do not subscribe to logic. All investigations are based on deductive reasoning.”

 

Rey shook her head again, the candlelight shining on her brown curls like a golden crown. “Not this one,” she whispered before withdrawing her hand in an evident sign of departure. “I assure you, Ben, this investigation will be quite different.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

By the time he took a seat in Lor van Tekka’s study, Ben’s mind had turned into a whirlwind of emotions. As he regarded his host, seated comfortably at his desk in a large oak chair, Ben could not have imagined a day as strange as this one. He departed New York assured that the case assigned to him would be a straightforward affair, a simple visit to a small village where he would immediately apprehend the Headless Horseman and uncover his identity. His success would be followed by a triumphant carriage ride home to New York, and the promise of a bright investigative future once he brought the culprit to justice. Otherwise, the authorities would not have been comfortable enough to send a mere novice to investigate a string of murders.

 

However, the moment he glimpsed the forests bordering the village, so much like the ones surrounding his old place of birth, Ben should have known there would be…complications. The dream he had had of his mother, a glimpse into the past which haunted him anew after years of almost dreamless slumbers, chilled the blood in his veins.

 

Watching Mr. van Tekka fumble with a collection of business letters, Ben could not shake the strange feeling that something was afoot, from the suspicious disappearance of his own missive to the eerie atmosphere surrounding the house and its inhabitants. The logical part of his mind, the one that prided itself on its ability for deductive reasoning, singling him out as a police constable destined for greatness, urged him to be on alert, to not get distracted by his personal issues and baser urges.

 

The dreams of his mother and of a past he wished to erase would remain a carefully guarded secret. The temptation represented by Rey van Tekka and her beguiling advances would remain unanswered for the duration of his stay.

 

“How can one explain what has been happening in Sleepy Hollow for the past few months?” Mr. van Tekka began, setting down his letters on the mahogany desk, his weary voice interrupting Ben from his reveries and resolutions.

 

“One must start at the beginning,” Ben supplied, settling in his own seat. His right hand reached for his leather-bound notebook.  It was a small item he always kept in the inner pocket of his coat, right over his heart, carefully nestled alongside a small graphite pencil.

 

“The birth of the Headless Horseman that has been plaguing our peaceful community may very well be associated with the birth of this illustrious country of ours,” Mr. van Tekka said, his tone a mix of pride and bitterness. “I assume you have heard of the Hessians, Mr. Solo?”

 

Ben nodded. How could he have not heard of these soldiers? They were part of the very fabric of this nation’s history, German regiments who had served the British during the American Revolution. They had all fought on these lands, even in the eerie woods bordering Sleepy Hollow, right next to the large tree shaped like the Devil’s instrument. 

 

“The Horseman is one of them,” his host proclaimed.

 

“What makes you so certain?” Ben inquired. “Have you seen him?"

 

Lor van Tekka shifted in his seat. “To my great misfortune, I have. I glimpsed him as he sprung out from the woods one night with the head of one of his early victims. He must not have sensed my presence, otherwise, I am certain he would have made my wife a widow and my daughter an orphan.”

 

Ben stilled. “I-I assume the uniform gave him away,” he said, and van Tekka nodded.

 

“Moden Van Canady, the reverend, was his first victim,” the old man continued, the loss of so many innocents a burden etched clearly on his shattered face. His eyelids dropped, as if signaling an endless painful slumber. “We thought it was an isolated occurrence then. The work of some heretic bent on attacking the church. Van Canady, despite his position as a clergyman, was not particularly respected by the locals. He enjoyed the bottle more than he did his sermons.”

 

“Do you have reason to suspect he might have acquired drinking debts? Perhaps an enemy or two?” Ben asked, his eyebrows narrowed as he scribbled down the information van Tekka provided.

 

“Magistrate Van Krennic discovered nothing of the sort,” he answered. “No debts, and certainly no people who disliked Van Canady enough to kill him. So, we assumed his murder was the work of a heathen. A heretic.”

 

“But the other murders were not, were they?” Ben deduced, and his host nodded.

 

Clutching his hand on the armrest, van Tekka resumed. “Then came Galen Van Erso, the village physician and the man whose head I saw that evening, as I was riding home from Mr. Van Krennic’s house. Naturally, this increased our suspicions to a prodigious degree. Van Erso was a quiet man who lived with his wife and child at the edge of the woods, devoted to his family and profession.”

 

Ben nodded, the contents of the missive Van Krennic had sent him indicating as much.

 

“And then Mr. Van Krennic met his end,” the old host continued, “shortly after writing to New York for assistance.”

 

“The authorities distrust his story,” Ben remarked. “They believe it to be a ploy by the British.”

 

Mr. van Tekka gave a bitter laugh. “The events that have happened here defy the rational mind. You will find, Mr. Solo, that this investigation differs tremendously from what you are used to in New York.”

 

Ben clutched his notebook. Rey believed the same thing as well, her parting words still echoing in his ear, foretelling a dark and dismal future. He shook his head.

 

 _No_ , Ben said to himself. _There must be a rational explanation._

 

“After Van Krennic, to our great surprise, nothing happened for almost a fortnight,” the old man added. “Until the gruesome murder of the van Hux family, earlier this week. Father and son, gone.” His voice shook, grief and indignation engraved upon his countenance.

 

Intrigued, Ben’s eyes wandered over the man’s face, an attempt to decipher the emotional reaction that lay before him.

 

“What happened to the heads?” he asked instead, holding his pencil in preparation for a satisfactory answer, the promise of evidence that would set the case on its right course.

Instead, Mr. van Tekka’s blue eyes bore into his. “The Horseman took them,” he replied, his gaze both grieved and soulless. “The Horseman took them all.”

 

-


	2. The Widow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haunted by his past, Ben Solo examines his strange connection with Rey. As he continues his investigation, Ben meets the other suspects and is on the cusp of making a startling discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading my fic, for leaving kudos and comments on AO3, and for the kind words written on tumblr and discord. I am profoundly grateful for your support, and I hope you enjoy this update. Thank you to Carol, who made this amazing moodboard when I posted chapter 1. You are amazing!!! Check it out [here](https://kpopandstarwarswhynot.tumblr.com/post/177218360484/i-made-a-moodboard-for-the-amazing-sleepy-hollow)

\--

 

Ben was drowning.

 

“Where is your mother, boy?” he heard the man’s gravely voice demand, his leathery hands fixed firmly around Ben’s neck. He pushed the young boy’s head further into the depths of the cold lake, the murky water suffocating him as effectively as the deathlike grip.

 

He pulled Ben back to life before death claimed him, the cold autumn air both blessing and torment as it relentlessly slapped him across the face.

 

“Where is she?” he demanded again as Ben squinted, his eyes stinging, unable to open to look upon his tormentor.

 

“I-I don’t know,” Ben croaked, aware that his prolonged life meant further suffering. Yet, despite that, he was willing to accept what came for his mother’s safety. “P-please, sir. Let me be.”

 

The man’s chuckle was ferocious, dark and hoarse, like a demon pouncing from the depths of hell.

 

“Your kin have taught you well, young Solo,” he taunted. “But I will break you.” The oath was uttered in a low voice, its certainty tinged by the promise of fear. “Sooner or later, you will tell me where she is hiding.”

 

The deathlike grip tightened around Ben’s neck, a hangman’s noose in human form. Ben coughed, and his left eye opened wide enough to glimpse a fine gold coat embroidered with dark thread.

 

“Never.” His left eye twitched, a gesture that would forever taint him. “I will die before I tell you.”

 

 _This will protect you, my son_ , his mother’s sweet voice echoed in his mind. _It will keep you safe._

 

The man laughed. “Empty threats,” he proclaimed, loosening his grip on Ben’s neck just enough to give him the illusion of safety.

 

 _You will be safe, Ben_. He remembered his mother’s promise.

 

He opened his right eye, his gaze fixed upon the man’s coat, the cut so much like a Hessian uniform despite its garish hue.

 

_I have dreamt it._

 

A soothing warmth blossomed in his chest, its petals incandescent. The scent encircled him, lavender and bracken, resting its tendrils on his shoulders, trying to pull him away.

 

Rey?

 

The man’s grip tightened once more, dunking Ben back into the water, giving him no respite, no time to take a deep breath and prepare himself for the new wave of anguish.

 

“You will tell me where your mother is hiding,” he demanded.

 

_Ben._

 

 _Ben_.

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Ben!”

 

He opened his eyes and sprang from the bed, as if he had glimpsed his first taste of freedom in the distance. Panting heavily, Ben took in his surroundings, his gaze unfocused and wild like an animal in a cage.

 

“Ben,” he heard Rey’s voice before he could see her, a vision in white seated at the edge of his bed, her brown hair cascading over her shoulders in a symphony of curls.

 

“R-Rey,” he breathed, taking in her wide hazed eyes and her pristine nightgown. “What are you doing here?”

 

She furrowed her brows, as if he had asked her a most unusual question. “You were screaming. I thought something terrible had happened to you.”

 

Had he? Ben closed his eyes, the memories from his nightmare still vivid in his troubled mind. Rubbing his forehead, he gave a jagged sigh. Why did this godforsaken place trigger something so ancient, yet still so undoubtedly raw?

 

“Are you all right?” she asked him. Her voice was disturbingly earnest, and his heart ached, splintering into pieces like a flimsy block of wood.

 

Opening his eyes once more, Ben focused his attention on the window behind Rey’s small form. The heavy damask curtains had already been pulled apart, and the morning light seeped through the windows, bathing her in sunshine as if she were a mermaid resting on a rock.  

 

Except, she was not. She sat at the edge of his bed, her body only a breadth away from his groin. As soon as that thought slipped inside Ben’s mind, his member hardened, the jolt of arousal piercing through his body like a spear. Taking in a deep breath, he realized he wanted her.

 

Here. Now.

 

Exhaling a shaky breath, Ben clenched his right fist. “You should not be here,” he told her instead, as his wild eyes settled on her own concerned gaze, hazel pools of radiant warmth.

 

Rey tilted her head, confusion etched on her face, as if he had made an unreasonable demand. “Why not?”

 

“It is not proper,” Ben replied as he maneuvered himself in a sitting position, using his elbows to support his weight. “I am a bachelor,” he continued, leaning against the headboard until the wooden edge dug into his back. “You are an unmarried woman.”

 

“Are you concerned that you would be forced to marry me?” She placed her hands on her lap, the very picture of propriety, yet her countenance betrayed an expression Ben could only describe as expectant.

 

For what, he could not endeavor to guess.

 

He lowered his eyes, contemplating the blue quilt wrapped around his broad frame, barely long enough to hide the tips of his toes as they peeked out from underneath. “I do not think we know each other enough to speak of that,” he finally replied, his voice unbearably hoarse.

 

 _But we could_ , the thought came to him unbidden, slithering inside his mind like a serpent, tempting him with something he had never considered until his arrival to Sleepy Hollow. Something he had never dared dream of despite his age of nine and twenty.

 

“Will you tell me about your dream?” Rey asked him, suddenly steering the conversation into yet another direction he feared to reflect upon.

 

Christ, what spells had this siren cast on him? His throat constricted, images of death and pain flooding his mind, spreading through him like a plague. “No.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Ben looked into her gaze as his own left eye twitched. “It doesn’t concern you.”

 

The moment he uttered those words, shame filled Ben to the brim, coursing through his body like venom until it choked him, sharp thorns wedged into the muscles of his throat.

 

Rey pursed her lips, visibly dissatisfied with his answer. Something gleamed in the depths of her eyes, and the movement caused Ben to still.

 

“I was merely concerned,” she told him, hurt seeping through her voice, bathing him in regret. “As a friend.”

 

A loaded silence fell upon the room, just as the morning sunrays retreated behind an errant cloud, shrouding the occupants in a heavy veil.  “So,” Ben said at last, his voice piercing the darkness like a sharpened blade, “we are friends, then?”

 

Rey shrugged, her expression unreadable in the dim room, the planes of her face a shadowy blur as the sun withdrew even further in its grey shell. “Is that not what you want?”

 

 _I do not know what I want_ , he wanted to scream, his frustration with his own illogical behavior threatening to burst like a volcanic eruption. Instead, Ben refrained, summoning his years of training to aid him in this crucial moment.

 

He knew he wanted to solve this investigation, uncover the identity of the so-called Headless Horseman that plagued the families of so many upstanding citizens. It was, of course, his duty as a police constable to bring justice, and Ben took his responsibility with the utmost seriousness.

 

But what he wanted remained a mystery, a case he could not untangle despite his profession, matters of the heart not subscribing to the stone-cold logic that had been ingrained into him. Deductive reasoning was, after all, the vital organ of his career of choice. The desire to punish those who evaded justice still dwelled in Ben’s mind, the source of his constant torment unyielding.

 

As if to mock him, the sun peeked out from behind the cloud, casting the room in a warm glow as morning finally settled in.

 

Gazing at Rey’s beautiful face, framed by that cascade of brown curls as if she had sprung from a Renaissance painting, he knew he could not have her. She was too lovely to be soiled by him, miserable creature that he was, a past so dark and shameful that she would spurn him if she knew.

 

“What do you want, Ben?” she asked him again, her lips parted as she exhaled a jagged breath.

 

He had been so close to tasting her lips last night, to wrap his arms around her small waist and press her body to his, to uncover the secrets nestled in her mind. Now, as she sat on the edge of his bed, Ben knew that if he asked her to kiss him now, she would indulge him.

 

And there would be no turning back.

 

Instead, he narrowed his eyes and summoned all the hatred he felt for himself. “I want you to leave,” Ben said, his voice unbearably harsh to his ears, regret sweeping his frame the moment he uttered those five words.

 

Pressing her palm to her chest, Rey stood up then, her fingers curling into the white fabric of her nightgown. Her expression shifted, as her gaze became more guarded and her once untroubled brow creased.

 

“Very well then,” she told him and turned to leave. “I wish you good luck with your investigation, Mr. Solo.”

 

The door closed behind her softly, and Ben collapsed on his bed, sweat prickling on his forehead despite the sudden chill in the room.

 

 

~*~

 

 

He skipped breakfast in favor of his investigation.

 

At least, that was the excuse he had given Phasma van Tekka when he met her in the hallway, just as she was about to enter the dining room. He nodded in greeting and immediately rushed outside, already dressed in his black riding clothes, practicality at the forefront of his mind.

 

Ben certainly did not attribute this hasty decision to the possibility that he might glimpse Rey seated across from him at the breakfast table, her earnest countenance replaced by a sullen, disillusioned expression.

 

 _Certainly not_ , he attempted to convince himself as he strode across the van Tekka grounds. Borrowing a horse from the stables, he rode to the van Hux estate, located not quite far from Lor van Tekka’s manor.

 

The van Hux house was a small yet still impressive building in the Dutch style, quite like the one he had departed from on this cloudy morning. As he rode, Ben looked up at the grey sky looming above his head, the promise of rain a foregone conclusion, but certainly not a deterrent for an investigator who was eager to prove himself. Ben hoped he could still uncover some pertinent information inside the house, even though the two men had already been buried.

 

When Ben finally arrived, he discovered that only one servant remained in residence, a skittish young man named Dopheld Mitaka, who permanently seemed to live in fear of some unknown peril.

 

“I-I heard of your arrival, M-Mr. Solo,” the man whispered, the upper half of his face peeking from behind the entrance, the rest obscured by the wooden door as if it might protect him from peril. “M-magistrate Dooku said you might d-decide to visit.”

 

At last, he opened the door, granting Ben the access he needed.

 

“I understand the funeral took place two days ago,” Ben said, taking off his overcoat as he scanned the surroundings.

 

The hallway was only slightly smaller than the one in van Tekka’s manor, yet there were just as many paintings decorating the walls, some of which seemed oddly familiar in Ben’s estimation. His gaze lingered on some of the portraits.

 

“W-would you like to have some tea, Constable Solo?” Mitaka asked.

 

“I think I would like to examine Brendol van Hux’s study,” Ben replied instead, turning away from the portraits. “Assuming he has one.”

 

“Oh, of course,” the other man said. “Though, unfortunately, I doubt you will find much of interest there.”

 

Ben regarded Mitaka with a furrowed brow. “Nothing of interest at the scene of the crime?”

 

“It was cleaned shortly before Magistrate Dooku arrived and inspected the room,” came the servant’s reply.

 

“You meddled with the scene of the crime?” Ben asked, his tone outraged. “What is this nonsense?”

 

“I-I only did that the magistrate asked, sir,” Mitaka wailed, his eyes almost welling with tears.

 

Frustrated, Ben pinched the bridge of his nose. “Your magistrate should know better,” he said, eager to resume his investigation. He took a deep breath, already exhausted from the events of the morning.

 

 _A dreamless sleep would be nothing short of a blessing_ , he pondered as he completed his examination of the van Hux paintings. “Take me to the study and tell me if you have seen this Horseman.”

 

Mitaka obliged, leading Ben into one of the smaller rooms to the left of the hallway. “The Horseman entered through the main door,” he began. “Cutting through it with a blade of some sort, according to Magistrate Dooku. It was replaced at his orders the following day.”

 

Ben cast an appraising eye at the portraits hanging on the walls, the study eerily cozy despite having been the location of two gruesome murders, the bookshelves filled to the brim with leather volumes of all sizes. “Magistrate Dooku has been very… enterprising.”

 

“He is Mr. Van Krennic’s replacement, sir,” Mitaka supplied. “V-very eager to prove himself and help us defeat the Headless Horseman.”

 

Moving to the desk, Ben quickly opened the drawers, examining the paperwork inside. He found several letters of business which he decided to take with him to peruse in privacy. “Do you have any suspicions as to who this horseman might be?”

 

“Who?” Mitaka asked, his eyes as wide as saucers. “C-constable, I am afraid this is not a question of w-who he might be.” Mitaka gulped, his eyes wandering around the room. He looked as if he feared the man in question might emerge from a secret compartment behind the wall. “It is a question of what he might be.”

 

Ben raised his eyebrows, curiosity mixed with skepticism.

 

“The Headless Horseman,” Mitaka resumed, “is n-not of this world. I… I saw him that evening, as I returned from Mrs. Van Erso’s house, to see if she needed our assistance after her husband’s demise. H-he rode like one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, Constable Solo, a terrifying sight in his Hessian uniform. Black and gold.”

 

Mitaka shuddered, intense spasms coursing through his body. “It was unholy, unnatural. To see a man without his head. To see something which should, by all accounts, be dead and buried. I would have shot him if I’d had my weapon.”

 

Ben crumpled one of the letters with his right hand. “I think I would like to have that cup of tea you offered,” he said, his breath uneven, a gnarled tendril creeping behind his neck.

 

Mitaka departed with a nod, leaving Ben alone to ruminate in the study, his thoughts jumbled, clashing anew with the nature of his occupation. He sat down on one of the chairs near the desk, his breathing labored as if he had run for days without reprieve. He pondered the nature of coincidences, the limits of reason, the renewed frequency of the glimpses from a past that, to his own misery, haunted him still.

 

Looking up, Ben glanced at one of the bookshelves, his brown eyes studying the spine of a visibly worn volume, the gold lettering proclaiming its contents for all to see. He stood up then, removing the thick volume from its location, another object that would join the pile of business letters to be perused at leisure.

 

 

~*~

 

 

His return to the van Tekka manor was met with a flurry of agitation. A short kindly man with a white periwig emerged from the bushes, his attire marking him as a member of the church. Panting heavily, he ran up to Ben’s horse so fast that he almost tripped over his own feet.

 

“The Horseman,” he cried out. “The Horseman has come again.”

 

Ben dismounted, clutching the letters and the thick volume he acquired from Brendol van Hux’s study. As he turned to speak to the man, Phasma van Tekka opened the front door, her face flushed.

 

“Reverend Palpatine,” she exclaimed, digging her nails in the fine fabric of her dark blue bodice. “It cannot be true.”

 

“But it is true,” the clergyman, Van Canady’s replacement, exclaimed. His wide eyes darted from Ben to Mrs. van Tekka. “He has taken to attacking our village during the day. Whatever shall become of us? We are doomed.”

 

“Who is the victim?” Ben inquired, regarding the man with narrowed eyes.

 

“A nobody, sir,” he replied. “A young widow named Bazine Netal.”

 

“What business can the Horseman have with her?” Phasma asked. “Constable Solo, there is no rhyme or reason to these attacks. You _must_ do something about them before we are all killed.”

 

Reverend Palpatine nodded, his periwig nearly falling off his head from the intensity of his movements. “Magistrate Dooku has asked me to summon the constable,” he said. “Since Mr. Van Erso’s death, we have been deprived of a professional who can look at the body. You are our last hope, Mr. Solo.”

 

“How do you know the body belongs to the widow Netal?” Ben asked. He tilted his chin upwards, the rational part of his mind finally in a position of control. “I was told your Horseman takes the heads of its victims, which would make identifying them impossible.”

 

“I see my husband has not informed you properly, Mr. Solo,” Phasma van Takka said, her eyes darting across his face with a keenness to impart a new and vital piece of information. “Bazine Netal went missing shortly after the van Hux murders. There can be no doubt as to the identity of the body.”

 

“We must hurry, Mr. Solo,” Reverend Palpatine entreated. “The others are waiting not far from here.”

 

The old man grabbed his arms, causing Ben to nearly drop the letters and the book he so carefully guarded from prying eyes. However, Ben’s reaction did not deter Reverend Palpatine, who continued to drag him away from the seclusion of the manor. He led Ben into the unknown, where the investigation would, to their good fortune, commence in haste.

 

Suddenly, as he neared the bushes the reverend had sprung from, a strange sensation prickled at Ben’s nape. Mystified, he looked over his shoulder, just in time to catch sight of Rey’s retreating figure. As he glimpsed the back of her blood red bodice and the trumpet sleeves hemmed with black lace, it dawned on Ben that, all the while, she had been observing him from his bedroom window.

 

When she disappeared from his sight, the window was left open, and the heavy curtains swayed in the crisp autumn wind.

 

 

~*~

 

 

They all waited for him in a forest clearing, circling the beheaded body of Bazine Netal like vultures in search of prey.

 

The first man Ben glimpsed was Mr. van Tekka, his periwig ruffled from the heavy wind, his brown clothes causing him to blend in almost seamlessly with the autumnal landscape. The old man introduced Ben to his companions, both of whom were close in age to his esteemed host. The first was Wilhuff Van Tarkin, Sleepy Hollow’s notary, a tall man with a drawn face whose demeanor betrayed a state of near constant anxiety. The second man was just as tall as Van Tarkin, yet far more well-rested in Ben’s estimation, his white beard neatly trimmed, his dark red jacket and waistcoat both impeccably tailored and decorated with wildflowers embroidered in silver thread, a choice more appropriate for the ballroom as opposed to an investigation. For an almost unexplainable reason, Ben immediately identified him as Magistrate Dooku.           

 

“I see you have found the constable, Reverend Palpatine,” the man in red exclaimed, the inflection in his voice betraying his impatience.

 

“Yes, Magistrate Dooku,” the clergyman replied, shoulders bent as if in supplication at the altar of a powerful deity.

 

“And I see Constable Solo has taken to the study of the Holy Bible,” Van Tarkin remarked, gesturing at the leather volume Ben had acquired from the van Hux estate. “A wise decision. The Headless Horseman is the Devil incarnate, according to Reverend Palpatine’s sermons. That is the only text you need to study in this investigation, sir.”

 

“You will surely need it, Mr. Solo,” Reverend Palpatine chimed in. “The sorrows plaguing our land can only be vanquished by our Lord and Savior.”

 

“Amen, Reverend,” the magistrate nodded, producing a silver cross from his coat’s inner pocket and pressing it to his lips.

 

“The Hessians killed for money,” Van Tarkin muttered. “This one kills for sport. I trust you are familiar with this sort of occurrence, constable.” 

 

“I am here to examine the body,” Ben said, attempting to return to the topic at hand. “If I may,” he handed the letters and the volume to Mr. van Tekka. His host accepted the burden gladly, clutching the items as if preparing to defend them with his life.

 

Satisfied, Ben bent down next to the widow’s body, studying her neck in deep concentration. The affair was straightforward to say the least, a powerful singular thrust to the neck, a beheading so precise she might as well have been guillotined. Whoever had done it could undoubtedly be described as an expert executioner.

 

However, there was something odd about the markings. The wound was several days old, but it had cauterized immediately, as if the widow had been stuck by a flaming sword. Yet, despite that, there were no signs of blistering, the woman’s flesh unburnt.

 

“Magistrate Dooku,” Ben called out, his voice betraying the slightest tremor. “Did the previous victims have the same markings as Mrs. Netal?”

 

The man nodded, fiercely gripping his crucifix. “They did,” he said. “They are the Devi’s fires.”

 

“Perhaps we should not jump to such conclusions,” Lor van Tekka reasoned, “and let Mr. Solo decide for himself the source of these markings.”

 

“There is no stopping the Horseman,” Magistrate Dooku exclaimed, certainty all but clear in his tone. “Seven murders,” he bellowed. “Seven innocent lives claimed by this unholy creature. I fear for our very existence.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Bazine Netal’s funeral was a modest affair, led by Reverend Palpatine and attended by the old men whom Ben had met in the forest clearing a few days ago.

 

Mrs. van Tekka and Rey were the only women in attendance, the latter evidently miserable at the loss of so many lives, her sun-kissed countenance unearthly pale, her hazel eyes prickling with tears.

 

Ben had seen very little of Rey since the widow was found dead. When he chanced to see her at dinner, she spoke very little, barely acknowledging his presence and leaving no doubt that she was still upset with him. Shame flowed through him anew, as the harsh words he had uttered in his bedchamber seeped into his mind.

 

As guilt gnawed at him, Ben occupied himself with the investigation, reading Brendol van Hux’s letters, gaining a deeper understanding of his business transactions with the other elders in Sleepy Hollow. The son was a mere footnote in his father’s life, the thirty something Armitage van Hux hardly mentioned in these important missives. Van Tarkin’s replies were a notable exception, useless attempts to console a father who detested his son’s unreasonable spending habits.

 

The old Bible, however, was an entirely different matter. The detailed tree of the van Hux family was proudly displayed on the first page, signaling a familial connection Ben should have expected in such a small village, with so few families that matched Brendol van Hux’s wealth and privilege.

 

Glancing at Rey as she watched the casket being lowered into the grave, her shoulders stooped, her hair pulled back to reveal a now tear strained cheek, Ben yearned to comfort her. The reminder of her hopeful gaze persisted, as did the earnest words she had uttered upon their first meeting. The memory of how sweetly she had kissed him before removing her blindfold was forever imprinted in his mind, removing all pretense of reason.

 

 _No_ , Ben shook his head, urging himself to return to reality, to the case he was bound by his profession to solve. Pining over Rey, whom he already felt unworthy of, would do nothing to ameliorate the current situation.

 

 _She is more than what I deserve_ , Ben decided as he heard the other attendants depart, lowering his head to the ground to stare at his black boots. He pierced the leather shoes with his gaze until he was certain the others had vanished from his vicinity.

 

Still, despite his efforts, a small hand touched his right bicep. “Ben.”

 

He did not dare look up, the identity of the person in question unmistakable.

 

“Please look at me,” the voice entreated, as melodious as on that first evening in the van Takka manor. Mesmerized, Ben could not help but remember the moment her lips touched his cheek, a brand on his flushed skin, claiming him as hers for all eternity.

 

“Your stepmother will not approve of seeing you here with me, Rey,” Ben protested, his voice unbearably weak to his ears.

 

“She already left,” came her soft reply, her fingers stroking the coarse fabric of his great coat. “It’s just us now. And you need me more than she does.”

 

He looked up then, his gaze colliding with her earnest eyes, finding it difficult to believe such a marvelous and bewitching woman could exist in the flesh. He had been so harsh with her that morning in his bedchamber, sending her away despite how tempted he was to confess what ailed him, to give voice to the vivid dream of a memory he thought long buried under the sands of time. She was still so visibly affected by the most recent death, the tips of her fingers trembling ever so slightly at the contact with his dull black coat and, despite her own fears and sorrows, she wanted to comfort _him_.

 

 _Him_ , a despondent and undeserving creature, a miserable wretch whose past sins could never be erased.

 

Ben’s left hand rested on her elbow, caressing the thick sleeves of her black woolen dress. “You should rest,” he said, voice lowered, an attempt to plead. To soothe her aching heart.

 

“I cannot rest,” she replied. “Not now. Not when you are in danger.”

 

Her eyes welled with tears, and it puzzled Ben how quickly she had attached herself to him. How she worried for his safety despite only knowing him for a scant number of days.

 

Were her dreams the reason why she felt so inexplicably enraptured? Had she known of his existence before he crossed her path? Was such a thing even possible?

 

 _You are meant to help her. And she is meant to help you_.

 

At once, his mother’s voice echoed in his mind, another memory from a time when life was easy and uncomplicated, untainted by misery and murder.

 

“Why does my fate trouble you so, Rey?” he inquired, his eyes lowered to study the movement of her lips. “Is it because of your dreams?”

 

“In part, yes,” she confessed, her voice a whisper in the wind. “And…”

 

She hesitated then, as if she feared his rejection.

 

Despite the protests bubbling in the rational part of his mind, he encouraged her, gently squeezing her elbow with his now trembling hand. “And?”

 

“And, because,” she began, pausing only slightly to bite her lower lip, the innocence of the gesture piercing through his cold heart like a flaming arrow. “Because… from the moment I saw you, I felt as if an invisible string had pulled me to you, tethering me to safety, as if the world finally made sense again. It is difficult to explain the nature of it.”

 

She wet her lips, and her next words came out with a shaky breath. “Did you feel it too?”

 

He looked into her eyes then, gleaming the hope nestled in her worried gaze. The memory of how he had felt drawn to her upon his arrival sprung forth once more, pure lava bursting from the mouth of a once dormant volcano.

 

 _Yes,_ he wanted to say, to scream his reply and erase her fears, the promise of a future filled with safety and affection.

 

But, unbidden, reason prevailed, piercing his chest like a cold and sharp dagger. The investigation, the letters, the old Bible carefully stored in Brendol van Hux’s study.

He let go of her as if she had scorched his skin.

 

“Why didn’t your father tell me that you were related to the van Hux family?” he asked, wincing as Rey expression changed from expectant to utterly confused.

 

She steadied herself, curls swaying in the autumn wind. “We live in a small village, Ben. Most of the families here are bound by blood or marriage. Surely you would have guessed why my father was so keen of having you stay in our house.”

 

 _Yes. Of course,_ he mumbled to himself, but said nothing. Nodding, he shifted his feet, his pale face flushed.

 

“I have nothing to hide from you,” Rey continued, her eyebrows furrowed. “This is the sixth life claimed by the Horseman. I want this to be the last.”

 

As soon as Rey uttered those words, she turned away. The damp soil hindered her progress, yet her retreating steps maintained a quick and impatient rhythm.

 

Ben’s gaze wandered over to the grave until he heard her stop. He looked up then, a cold gust of wind blowing away the hair from his face.  

 

“We should head home,” Rey said over her shoulder as the wind grew stronger, billowing her mourning dress like a raven taking flight into the unknown. “It gets dark early this time of year.”

 

He looked up at the fading light, dread nestled in his chest, spreading its cunning tendrils as if it were poison.

 

 

~*~

 

 

A few hours later Ben lay in bed, too weary and fearful to sleep, studying the notes he had written in his leather-bound notebook on the day he interviewed Mr. van Tekka. Since then, he had jotted down more pieces of information he’d unearthed upon meeting Mitaka and the elders who stood watch over Bazine Netal’s headless body. He flipped through the pages, his brows furrowed in deep concentration.

 

 _Something is not adding up_ , he pondered as he looked over the list of victims.

 

“Reverend Van Canady, Galen Van Erso, Orson Van Krennic, Brendol and Armitage van Hux, Bazine Netal…” he murmured, wondering if there was a connection between these people.

 

_I have nothing to hide from you. This is the sixth life claimed by the Horseman. I want this to be the last._

 

Rey’s words leapt into his mind, strengthening his resolve to put an end to this vicious cycle of terror.

 

Six people. Six murders.

 

_Seven murders. Seven innocent lives claimed by this unholy creature._

 

As he remembered Magistrate Dooku’s statement, so certain and precise, Ben stilled.

 

 _It could be a mistake_ , he said himself as he drew back the covers, dropping his notebook on the wooden floor. He stood up, fumbling with his nightclothes until he successfully undressed himself, running across the room to change into something more appropriate for what he had in mind.

 

After he dressed himself in his customary black garments, Ben picked up his notebook and placed it inside his chest pocket. He then opened the door to his chamber and slipped out, tiptoeing across the dimly lit hallway to avoid disturbing Mr. and Mrs. van Tekka.

 

A few seconds later, he paused in front of another wooden door, pondering if he should knock and risk waking up the entire household, or enter discreetly and pray he would not frighten the occupant he now desperately searched for.

 

Gripping the door handle, Ben settled on the second option and pushed down, relieved to find the chamber unlocked. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him, his eyes immediately adjusting to the darkness inside the chamber.

 

The curtains in the room were slightly drawn apart, allowing the moon to cast a helpful gleam upon the focus of his search.

 

She slept soundly on her back, the covers drawn up to her waist despite the chill in the room, one exposed hand resting on her chest, while the other found comfort somewhere on the large pillow, tucked beneath her flowing curls. The long brown tresses framed her small head, giving her appearance a striking radiance that shone even in slumber.

 

A wood-nymph in repose.

 

He neared her bed, awed by her splendor, his hands itching to touch the lovely expanse of skin which remained uncovered by her nightgown: her small and delicate hand, the slender column of her neck, her lovely and eager sun-kissed face.

 

 _No_ , he shook himself, schooling his features into steel resolve.

 

Crossing his hands at the back, as if he were strolling through a meadow, Ben approached her. “Rey,” he called out tentatively, his voice a mere whisper.

 

Nothing.

 

“Rey,” he called out again, his voice slightly louder.

 

At last, her eyelids fluttered open, as if she had awakened after a century long slumber, her gaze unfocused until he stepped into the moonlight.

 

“Ben,” she gasped, as if the sight of him had pleased her beyond belief, until she took in her surroundings and glanced at the window. “What time is it?”

 

He stepped forward, a breadth away from the edge of the bed. “Midnight.”

 

Understanding settled in Rey’s mind, her gaze knowing. She looked at him as if she had been offered a glimpse into his thoughts.

 

“You need my help,” she stated, her eyes scanning his face, resting, curiously enough, on his lips.

 

Ben ignored the thought, seating himself at the edge of her bed. “Desperately,” he breathed. “You were right, Rey. We _were_ meant to help each other.” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I-I cannot do this alone, and you are the only one I can trust. I see this now.”

 

She raised herself on the bed, holding out the hand which had been nestled under her curls towards him. He regarded her outstretched arm, his breath as uneven as her own.

 

Did he dare?

 

Before he could think, his right hand reached out to her, touching her fingertips ever so slightly. The contact between his cold fingers and her warmth startled him to the core.

 

Rey gasped, whether because of the cold, or something entirely different, he knew not, but her gaze shone with something akin to hope.

 

His left hand darted out, and soon Ben cradled her small hand in his large palms, inexplicably starved for her touch as their eyes locked. “I need you, Rey,” he said, his voice trembling, exposed as he lay at her mercy.

 

Rey nodded then, and he could glimpse as understanding seeped through her veins like wildfire. “Tell me Ben,” she said, the soothing cadence of her words nestling deep in his chest. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

 

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this update (despite its length). Now that the characters have been introduced, the action can truly begin. I have a lot of things planned, which I hope you will find interesting. This second chapter was quite a struggle to put together, and I was plagued by many doubts as I was writing and editing. I rely on your feedback to improve my story and to stay motivated, so your comments are deeply valued and appreciated. I hope you have a wonderful day! <3


	3. The Horseman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey make a startling discovery. Constable Solo meets a headless gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much to everyone for giving this story a chance. Your support means a lot to me. I cherish all your comments, kudos and encouragement. I hope you enjoy reading this new update.

\--

 

He thrust the shovel into the ground, digging up the earth with the desperation of a man uncovering a vital secret. Rey held a metal gas lamp over his head, casting a dim light upon his broad frame.

 

Ben looked over his shoulder then, intent on catching a glimpse of her - though the true reason eluded him. Rey’s eyes, however, were lowered in deep contemplation, her sun-kissed face now caressed by the cold night air. She stood watch like a benevolent spirit, examining the mounting pile of soil covering Bazine Netal’s final resting place. The moon shone on the sky in all its splendor, round and inquisitive, casting the burial ground near the old church in an eerie glow. She bit the inside of her cheek before her lips parted with the desire to speak.

 

“Are you certain?” she asked him, her voice barely above a whisper, though there were no souls that could hear them in this place.

 

They stood on a voiceless land where the dead reigned beneath the cold and damp soil, their presence marked by tombstones wedged into the ancient earth like arrows on a battlefield.

 

“Most certain,” he breathed, sweat gathering at his forehead, in part caused by the exertion, but also by the knowledge that what he sought held vital knowledge. A clue that, if uncovered, would be vital to the investigation.

 

He resumed his work, intent on unearthing the secrets lodged deep beneath the quiet ground. Soon enough, the tip of his shovel hit wood, the sound breaking through the veil of secrets. The corners of Ben’s mouth curled up, as the object of his search now rested in close proximity.

 

“Help me,” he pleaded, like a man drowning in a vast and empty ocean.

 

Rey placed the lamp on the ground, taking his outstretched hand as he lowered her inside the deep and wide hole he had just dug.

 

The hole was knee-deep, yet Ben made sure there was still enough room for both of them to move around the wooden object they sought. Bending down, they used their hands to scape the remaining soil off the casket, the tips of Ben’s fingers brushing ever so slightly against Rey’s knuckles as they worked.

 

Once they completed the task, Ben stood up and turned to look at her lovely visage, gratitude seeping from his veins. She rewarded him with a beaming smile, spreading light through the gathering darkness.

 

“I trust you, Ben,” she told him, standing up as she pulled out a handkerchief from one of her pockets. It was a fine white fabric that contrasted with her dark clothing, embroidered with green and purple thread at the corners. Bracken leaves and lavender. The beguiling scent of hers that had invaded his senses upon his arrival, now embroidered in fine thread on a deeply personal and intimate possession.

 

Rey held up the square material. “Let me,” she said as she wiped his forehead, her touch the holiest of blessings. He closed his eyes as she worked, savoring her presence, basking in her attention if only for a moment, his reprieve as fleeting as a raindrop in the desert.

 

All too soon her movements ceased, he opened his eyes to gaze into her own. The lamp she had set down on the cold earth above cast a faint glow upon the crown of her head, as if she were a deity looking over the mortals who adored her.      

 

Steeling himself, Ben returned to the task at hand. “When did Bazine Netal’s husband pass away?”

 

“Three years ago,” she replied, confusion etched on her lovely face.

 

Ben nodded, the scope of what he was about to do sweeping through his veins like ice. “If my suspicions are correct, what we are about to uncover will cast this case into an entire new light,” he confessed, and his voice shook then, trembling like a leaf scattered in the wind.

 

“They are,” Rey said, her cheeks flushed with the depth of her certainty. “And I think, deep down, you know this as well. Otherwise, we would not be here without reason.” A brief pause shrouded them, before her mouth parted anew, her lips rounding into a circle. “Open it.”

 

Nodding at her reply, Ben turned to the casket. His hands clutched the edge of the lid and, with a deep breath, he lifted it.

 

The stench was unbearable, akin to rotting flesh, as if the corpse had spent months buried underneath the ground instead of mere hours. Ben covered his nose with his sleeve, tears prickling at his eyes so strongly they burned. Behind him, Rey coughed, and Ben was not doing much better either, urging himself not to succumb to his reflexes and cast up his accounts.

 

Holding his breath, Ben bent down to study the body, eyes resting on the victim’s waist. He signaled for the lamp and Rey obliged him, casting the much-needed source of light on the dead woman. Thankful for her assistance, Ben examined Bazine’s dress for any opening that would hasten this unpleasant task.

 

To his good fortune, the ordeal was a short-lived affair, and relief prickled at the back of his neck. With a swift movement, Ben produced a thin blade from one of his coat pockets and began cutting through the front-lacing stays. The cheap material gave in easily, and he would have sighed with joy if it weren’t for the sickly odor which surrounded him – a stain upon the silent ground.

 

Soon enough, Bazine Netal’s stomach was exposed to the cold autumn air, pale and still and very much dead. Her belly was slightly rounded, an imperceptible sight underneath the layers of clothing and the constraints of her lacing. Nonetheless, Ben knew he could not rely solely on appearances, the rational part of his mind aware of the importance of concrete evidence.

 

Clutching his blade, he made an incision, as precise as that of a trained surgeon in the midst of burgeoning war.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Immediately after his discovery, Ben led a shaken Rey back to the manor. The burial ground they had desecrated just moments ago was restored to its usual appearance, as if no soul had set foot on the barren earth with a singular purpose.

 

With designs of scouring the place for its deepest and darkest secrets.

 

If Rey harbored any regrets for helping him, she showed no signs. Her dirty hands clutched his own, unaffected by the coagulated blood which now stained his palms – the taint of death and the misery of a young life taken before it could draw its first breath.

 

They stood in the stables, the shovel and lamp returned to the place where Rey had helped him find them. The horses slept, as did the owners and the handful of servants who still resided in the house. Ben sighed in relief at the thought, fearful that the midnight excursion might have placed Rey in unwanted peril.

 

“Now you know everything I do.” he said, his body a breadth away from hers, their eyes locked in quiet understanding, “If something happens –”

 

“Promise me you will take care,” she told him instead, always thinking about others ahead of her own well-being.

 

The depth of her concern mystified and astounded him anew – a benevolent goddess trapped in the confines of a miserable realm. A cage teeming with undeserving mortals.

 

Ben squeezed her hand. “I should ask that of you,” he replied, and the reminder of what she had just witnessed pierced his heart with guilt. “I should not have made you go through this. I’m –”

 

Rey went on tiptoes and pressed her lips against his cheek, in the same place she had kissed him on the evening they met. The touch was electrifying, sending a jolt of awareness through his body, his thoughts dispersed by the cold autumn air. His cheeks flushed, a soft dusty pink that bloomed on his skin like a flower, petals gently scattering with each trembling exhale.

 

“I wanted to be there,” she told him, her gaze so unbelievably warm and earnest that it humbled him, his unworthiness bubbling closer and closer to the surface. “I said I wanted to help you, Ben. I have no regrets.”

 

Ben sighed then, a sound so deep it shook him, as if the ground had vibrated and caused havoc in its wake.

 

“Please stop that,” she cautioned, furrowing her brows.

 

He closed his eyes, as if unable to face her. “What?”

 

“Stop looking at me as if you fear you do not deserve me.”

 

Her sharp reply urged him to open his eyes again, though he still found it difficult, in that moment, to hold her gaze for long. The darkness that stained his past was lodged deep in his chest, a poisonous arrow stuck in the center of his heart.

 

“I do not know what troubles you,” she continued, her tone regaining its gentleness from a few minutes before, when she had asked him to be careful. “You will tell me in your own time, and I will wait for you to do it. But, for now, stop looking at me as if I am some paragon of goodness.”

 

“How can I not?” he asked, his eyes resting on her lips. “You are so good, so kind –”

 

She smiled at that, the corners of her lips lifting in the most inviting way he could imagine, begging to be kissed. “I am a person,” Rey told him, shrugging her narrow shoulders. “I make mistakes. As does everyone else. You should not assume I am a faultless angel, as I certainly do not think that of you.”

 

Ben’s left eye twitched, emotions he could scarcely contain churning in his soul. “That is a relief. I assure you that I am a flawed, imperfect man.”

 

Her smile never faltered. “Good,” came her reply, so certain in its gentleness, iron sheathed by the smoothest velvet. “That tells me you are just the man I want.”

 

A soon as she uttered those words, Rey went on her tiptoes again, pressing another kiss on his cheek. Her lips grazed the corner of his mouth, as if her courage had deserted her at the last moment. When she pulled away, he gazed into her eyes, his eyelids fluttering open as if she had revived a part of him that had been withering in the desert – her lips a dash of rain on the barren waste that stretched inside his soul.  

 

After a brief pause, she let go of his hands. The loss of her warm touch was so agonizing, like someone had carved his heart out and sprinkled salt over the gaping wound.

 

“You must go now,” Rey said, making haste to retreat to the safety of the manor. “We will speak when you return. In moments such as this, time is a luxury we cannot afford.”

 

“I will come back,” he said as she retreated, her black dress melting in the unyielding night.

 

She looked over her shoulders then, just as a gust of wind whispered against her hair. “I know. You always will.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

It took five minutes for Magistrate Dooku to answer the door, the servants either gone for fear of the Horseman’s wrath – or far too fearful to open the door at such an hour.

 

The man’s gaze certainly confirmed a lingering fear. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he clutched his silver crucifix as if it could save the entire village from an invasion.

 

“Did you know Bazine Netal was with child?” Ben asked the man, far too impatient to waste time with meaningless pleasantries.

 

“O-Of course I did,” the magistrate said, stepping out into the cold night air, wrapping his white banyan over his matching nightclothes. He took in Ben’s disheveled appearance and frowned at his hands, covered as they were in dirt and blood. “She told me.”

 

“Why?” Ben inquired.

 

Magistrate Dooku wiped his beard with the palm of his right hand. “She wished to know how best to protect the rights of her child. I advised her to go to Magistrate Van Krennic and accompanied her there. That is all.”

 

“From what I understand, her husband passed away three years ago,” Ben resumed, his gaze narrowed. “For obvious reasons, he could not have fathered the child.”

 

“Of course,” Magistrate Dooku agreed. “To assume that would be preposterous. A disrespectful deed to the memory of both husband and wife.”

 

“Do you know who the father is? I assume that if she went to you for advice, she must have been forthcoming.”

 

The man sighed then, fully aware there was no possibility to escape the onslaught of questions. “Yes, I know his identity,” he replied. “But it does not matter now, with all parties in question dead and buried.”

 

“Why do you say that?” Ben spluttered, sweat prickling at his forehead despite the increasing gusts of wind, foreboding spiking in his chest. “Of course, it matters. It could be the key to the entire investigation.”

 

The magistrate simply rolled his eyes. “I doubt it.”

 

He cast another disapproving eye in Ben’s direction, once more focused on the ghastly appearance of his hands. At once, realization swamped his mind like a terrible flood.

 

“Your experiments may be acceptable in New York, Constable Solo,” Magistrate Dooku began, his tone coated in censure, “but in Sleepy Hollow such experiments are unlawful, unethical, and certainly unacceptable by any man who fears the wrath of God.”

 

The trees which flanked the house rustled then, as if foretelling a dark and ancient omen. In the distance, a dog howled.

 

“Dear God,” the magistrate wailed, dropping his crucifix to the ground, his trembling fingers clutching his banyan. “I knew nothing good would come of this.”

 

Ben ran a hand through his hair. “Of what, Magistrate Dooku?” he asked, impatient for answers, desperate to bring an end to the horrors plaguing this cursed village.

 

The dog continued to howl, and a faint gallop made its presence known, growing in intensity with each passing second. Ben glanced at the magistrate and saw his eyes widen as all color drained from his face.

 

“Sir?” he asked the older man, deeply concerned for his well-being.

 

However, the magistrate remained still and unblinking, as if he had glimpsed an ancient spirit. His eyes went up, looking somewhere in the distance, beyond Ben’s broad shoulders.

 

Spurred by this puzzling reaction, Ben turned around.

 

He glimpsed his nightmares return to haunt him in the flesh. An omen in the shape of an undead creature.

 

A man rode his dark steed in their direction, holding an ancient dark sword in his hand, the hilt engraved with blood red stones. He could have been mistaken for any ordinary soldier, except he was missing a head.

 

The Headless Horseman.

 

Yet, despite the horrifying sight, there was something else which attracted Ben’s attention.

 

A unusual Hessian uniform that was faded with age, so dirty it was almost black. A uniform tinged with glimpses of its former golden color.

 

Ben stood rooted to the ground, the shock of the discovery so great he could not move, no matter how much his rational mind insisted that he flee. He was drenched in sweat now, his dirty, blood-stained hands shaking to a worrying degree.

 

Vaguely, he heard Magistrate Dooku’s screams. He heard magistrate’s retreating footsteps, in a desperate haste to run for safety.

 

The Horseman urged the reins of his undead steed in rapid pursuit, his purpose clear.

 

Resigned to his fate, Ben closed his eyes. He imagined that, this time around, the Horseman had come to claim in death what he had not claimed in life. The galloping sounds neared in haste, and, for a brief moment, Ben’s entire life flashed before his eyes.

 

His mother’s sweet laughter as his father taught their son how to ride a horse.

 

The sudden departure of his father and uncle to fight against the British. To fight in the war that would win them their independence.

 

His mother’s cries upon glimpsing their severed heads, sent to her in an old wooden crate.

 

Ben’s capture by the Hessian with the unusual gold uniform. Embroidered with thick black thread.

 

His mother’s own demise.

 

Ben swallowed, prepared to meet his death, prepared to join his family in the afterlife. Wherever that might be.

 

The Hessian’s horse neighed, a frightful sound so unlike any other living animal, a shrill and ugly noise that made Ben’s skin crawl with utter dread.

 

He thought of the moment he first glimpsed Rey in her father’s drawing room, her radiant smile as she stood there: blindfolded and eager to win.

 

He thought of the feeling of her lips on his cheek, their calm and soothing warmth, as if she had applied a balm that would heal his deep and ancient wounds.

 

He remembered her concern when she awakened him from his nightmare, her willingness to help others above all things.

 

His heart constricted. To hope for death, when he had so much to live for, would be a sacrilege.

 

 _No_ , he said to himself as his eyes opened.

 

The Horseman was a few steps away from where he stood, just as Ben’s own feet regained their movement.

 

 _I want to live_.

 

Ben turned to run away then, right as the Horseman rode up behind him. The demon raised his sword as if he were fighting in the vanguard – a despot sending innocent men to slaughter.

 

He urged his horse in Ben’s direction.

 

And rode right past him.

 

Shocked to his core, Ben stilled, stunned as the Horseman sent his mount in pursuit of Magistrate Dooku.

 

The older man ran as far as his feet could take him, attempting to climb the small hillock which rose behind his house. His goal stretched somewhere beyond a distant cluster of trees.

 

The Horseman, however, was unyielding, catching up to the magistrate in an instant. His sword bore down and chopped off the man’s head with one smooth slash – a practiced gesture that Ben knew all too well.

 

He’d seen it all before, and the vicious movement brought forth a memory so cruel and painful that Ben swayed in the wind. His knees wobbled, and his vision dimmed like a flickering candle in the merciless dead breeze.

 

While darkness threatened to consume him, the last few seconds Ben remembered were staggering and far too familiar.

 

The victim’s head rolling down the hillock as if it were a child’s ball.

 

The Horseman stabbing the skull with the tip of his sword.

 

The creature raising the head where his own skull should have been, his silence a deafening scream of victory.

 

As the rider left with his chosen prize, Ben collapsed on the cold and hard soil, his consciousness giving way to the mercy of oblivion.

 

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now the fun truly begins! Ben's first encounter with the Horseman (and the memories it triggers) is an event I had planned from the beginning, and I'm very happy to finally have this chapter out and share it with you. If you liked this chapter, please let me know. Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated. Your feedback influences how I shape and present each update. Not to mention this keeps me motivated to share the story in full! I hope you enjoyed reading this new update.


	4. The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben tells Rey the truth about his parents. The Horseman takes a leisurely stroll through the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who supported my previous update. Your encouragement means so much! I hope you enjoy this update.

 

When his eyelids fluttered open, he was almost certain death had claimed him. Otherwise, how could he explain the sight that lay before him in his chamber, seated at the edge of his bed, as welcoming and enchanting as the sweetest of summer days?

 

“Rey,” he breathed, his voice shaking, taking in her appearance. Her long wavy hair was pulled back in a simple braid that cascaded over her right shoulder. Her blue dress and matching bodice were embroidered with fine silver thread, undulating as she exhaled, like the ocean’s waves on a peaceful afternoon.

 

“Shhh,” she murmured, placing a hand on his forehead to check his temperature, her cold fingers soothing him in an instant. It was a swift gesture – a reassurance him that, indeed, he was still breathing, reclined as he was on a mountain of pillows. “You need to rest.”

 

The events of the previous night flooded his mind, spilling forth like water breaking through a fragile stone dam. The midnight journey to unearth the secret hidden inside the widow’s casket, the arduous trek to the magistrate’s house to demand answers.

 

The appearance of the creature who had haunted him all those years ago, and continued to do so even in death.

 

Ben shuddered, uncontrollable spasms raking through his body, as tears welled up in his eyes. Rey’s hand cupped his cheek, urging him to look at her lovely visage.

 

“You are safe now,” she told him, her voice firm before it softened, the corners of her eyes prickling with unshed tears. “My darling.”

 

Closing his eyes for a blissful moment, he took in her scent – the soothing mix of lavender and bracken that filled his nostrils with tenderness and hope. How she strengthened him despite only knowing her for a few days, as if she had done the same in another lifetime – perhaps even in a different century.

 

“I saw him Rey,” he whispered, his eyes now open, fearful. “I saw the Horseman.”

 

“I know,” came her reply as her hands reached out to cup one of his own. Belatedly, Ben realized he had been bathed and dressed in a new set of nightclothes.

 

Had Rey done this? Where were her family and the servants?

 

She told him all that had happened then, how he had been found near Magistrate Dooku’s house and brought back to the van Tekka manor by a handful of villagers, how the magistrate’s body had been carted off to Sleepy Hollow’s venerable church. The body now awaited his inspection before arrangements could be made for the burial.

 

“Most of the servants have left,” she told him with a shrug, a reality that was unavoidable given the circumstances. “My father has given me permission to look after you, much to Phasma’s displeasure.” She flashed him a smile, the corners of her lips lifting ever so pleasantly. “She believes it’s improper, but I don’t think so. I think she just wants to be in control of everyone.”

 

Rey smoothed his hair, running her fingers through the dark waves, the tips grazing his shoulders. “What happened? Tell me,” she asked, her words tinged with concern.

 

Ben’s left eye twitched. “He died before he could tell me anything of value.”

 

“I am not referring to the magistrate,” she replied. “I am talking about the Horseman.” Rey paused then, while her knowing gaze raked across his face. “You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

 

His hands fisted the sheets, trembling anew.

 

Did he dare tell her? Unleash the sordid secret of his past and risk her censure?

 

Last night she told him she did not view him as an angel, a perpetually unsoiled creature who possessed no flaws. Yet now, in the revealing light of the day, would her thoughts change if he knew just how imperfect he truly was, how damaged and wretched and raked with guilt?

 

“I know who the Horseman is,” he told her, before the rational side of his brain could convince him to keep her in the dark.

 

Rey’s hazel eyes widened. “How is that possible?”

 

“In order to answer that question,” he replied, taking in a deep breath before he his lips parted again. “I must tell you about my family.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

Giving him a nod, Rey placed her hands on her lap, allowing Ben to tell the story he had buried deep in the darkest corners of his mind, underneath the pain and guilt that had marred his existence in the years following his childhood.

 

“My parents and uncle supported the revolutionary cause,” Ben said. “My father and uncle went to war against the British.”

 

His gaze grew wistful and the memories came flooding back to him. “My mother was very much like you. She had dreams of things that were to come. She dabbled in spells on occasion.” He paused to take a deep breath. “Protective charms, for the most part, which she liked to draw in the ashes of the fireplace.”

 

Rey nodded encouragingly, her fingers twitching with the thirst for knowledge. “I think I know,” she whispered. “In my dreams there was a woman with the longest brown hair I’d ever seen.”

 

Rey’s gaze became pensive, just has Ben’s own eyes widened. Suddenly, the possibility of answers that would dissipate the confusing mist took hold of him. A deep and treacherous wasteland surrounded him, waiting to be crossed at last, the journey's end now within reach.

 

“She drew odd swirls by the fireplace as if in a trance,” Rey continued. Certainty trickled through each syllable like the promise of rain on a barren field, restoring what once was lost.  “And as her hands worked, she spoke to me.” A brief pause settled, the final respite before the first bloom flowered, spreading life across the world. “She spoke to me of you.”

 

His breath hitched, like a once unyielding cynic who had just witnessed the greatest of miracles. “Rey,” he began, trembling as he uttered her name in a murmured prayer.

 

“And then I saw a boy,” Rey added, her voice now bathed in wonder. A radiant warmth washed over him, beaming sunlight piercing through the darkness nestled in his soul. “I saw a boy that looked like you.”

 

In a trembling voice, Ben gave speech to the history burrowed in the recess of his mind, tucked away like a frightened creature seeking the sun’s warmth. “You dreamt of my mother.”

 

“And I dreamt of you,” she said. “At first you were small, and your hair barely covered your ears.”

 

The corners of Ben’s mouth curled up, as memories of how perplexed he’d been by his appearance resurfaced. A large nose and a pair of large ears that, in those fragile years, seemed too big for his face. “And how was I when you dreamt of me later?”

 

Her eyes glistened with infinite tenderness. “Exactly as you are now.” She paused, her breath hitching ever so slightly. “With me.”

 

_Where I belong._ The thought slithered in his mind before he could stop it, spreading its roots and embracing him until he could think of nothing else but her.

Rey.

 

Rey and her sweet smile and her enticing scent, her eager eyes and her fascinating mind. 

 

“I had dreams as well, but paid them no mind,” he resumed, encouraged by her words. “I was but a child then. But my mother understood them well and allowed her dreams to guide her.”

 

“She sounds enchanting,” Rey said, a thoughtful look etched on her face, so lovely and full of life in the clear morning light.

 

“Her name was –”

 

“Leia,” Rey said at once, the one syllable word binding her to him. It was an unbreakable thread he knew she sought, the desire etched on her shining countenance.

 

“She would have adored you,” Ben replied, smiling as tales of his mother’s kind nature swam to the surface. The stories floated through his mind until they were joined together, arranged like the pages of a tome with an indestructible binding. Knowledge that he now yearned to share. “I have no doubt about that.”

 

Biting her lower lip, Rey continued. “From the way you speak of her, I understand she is not with you any longer,” she murmured, and he could gleam from the concerned look in her eyes that she made the connection he had tried to repress for years.

 

Ben nodded. “The British brought other troops besides their own,” he continued. “Hessians, of which the Horseman was a part of. Most soldiers kill for money, or to protect their own. But the Horseman killed for sport. His name was Snoke, and my uncle and father died trying to capture him when I was a child.”

 

Rey’s hand reached out to touch his own, but he stopped her with a gesture, a plea to allow him to continue, lest he lose his courage.

 

“Ben,” she whispered, her features softening as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

 

He took a deep breath, fully aware that this was the point of no return, that he would tell her everything and let her see him as the monstrous wretch he truly was.

 

“Somehow, Snoke found out about my mother and I, and abandoned his regiment to pursue the family of those who had tried and failed to apprehend him. He captured me first, but my mother escaped before he could get to her.”

 

As the words poured out of him, Ben found it more and more difficult to contain himself, the emotions in his chest as turbulent as an ocean storm. His hands fisted the sheets, a feeble effort to maintain a semblance of control over his sanity.

 

“He tortured me for weeks until I finally caved in and told him where she was hiding,” Ben told her. The misery in his voice became too powerful to rein in, as if his entire body had been sliced in half with a sharp blade. “I sentenced her to death.”

 

“No,” Rey protested, leaning forward until she clutched his hands with her own. “Ben, you are not to blame.”

 

“If I had not given in, she would still be alive,” Ben told her, his harsh tone the only punishment he could give himself in that moment. “I saw it all happen, Rey,” he continued, the words spilling out of him with ease now that she could see him as the monster he truly was. “I saw him slice her head off, pierce it with his sword and raise it high above his head. He told me I had done this to her, and then announced that he would spare me,” he said bitterly. “So that I would live with my guilt until my dying day.”

 

“No, Ben,” Rey touched his cheek, urging him to look into her eyes.

 

He did just that, and almost wept at the tenderness gleaned into her shining gaze, feeling unworthy of her caress. Undeserving of her understanding, her deep and wondrous devotion.

 

“He would have found her regardless,” Rey continued in that same soothing voice of hers. “He would have scoured the entire world in search of his enemies, as he did when he captured you. He would have seized another innocent like yourself, who would not have lasted as long as you have. Do you not see it? He knew what he was doing all along.”

 

He shook his head. “You insist on seeing the good in me when there is none.”

 

She squeezed his right hand with her own. “I insist on seeing the truth. And what I see is a cruel manipulation that had plagued you since you were a child. I see that your innocence was stripped away from you with a horrible brutality. Tell me, Ben, how did the Horseman meet his end?”

 

“He died not far from where we are standing now, killed by other revolutionaries like my uncle and father.” Ben paused then, the words sinking in. “He was supposed to be dead. And now he is back, for a purpose I cannot understand.”

 

“And you will defeat him for good, regardless of his motives,” she said, her words coated in determination. “I will help you do it. Your family will know peace. Your mother will have the justice that was denied to her. He will no longer plague my home and kin. I dreamt it.”

 

Ben furrowed his eyebrows. “You should despise me instead of pledging to fight by my side. I am the monster whose treachery condemned my mother to a horrible death.”

 

“No,” she cried out vehemently. “You are the man who will bring justice. Is that not what a police constable should do? Or any honest citizen, for that matter? Do not let Snoke’s manipulation take hold over you, Ben.”

 

“Did your dreams tell you this?” he asked with the strength of a dying man.

 

“You believed in your mother’s dreams and yet you do not believe in mine,” she told him, though her words held no censure. It astonished him how, even with his past laid bare for her perusal, she did not judge him.

 

_I will protect you for as long as I can, my son._

 

His mother’s voice materialized in in mind then, as if summoned by a benevolent deity.

 

_And when I can no longer protect you, someone else will come and help you._

 

Had she known this would happen? Had she dreamt it all along and prepared him for her untimely end as best she could?

 

_I have dreamt it. As have you._

 

He had never paid attention to his childhood dreams – terrible visions that always frightened him to the core.

 

_You are meant to help her. And she is meant to help you._

 

“Ben?” he heard Rey’s voice, dimly, as if she were on the other end of the world, her touch on his cheek as light as a summer breeze.

 

“You said you never saw me as an angel, and now you speak as if you do,” the remark burst forth, steeped in disbelief.

 

Rey smiled then. “Oh, Ben, have you learned nothing from what I told you then? I see you for what you are, and you are the man I want,” she told him. “I know your past now and I know how much it troubles you, and I do not fault you for it. And I see and embrace you, with your flaws and regrets, as I yearn to be accepted by you despite my own.”

 

Wetting his lips, Ben raised his hand to touch her hair, braided as it was with skill and patience.

 

“You need not yearn for something you already have,” he whispered, the words coming from a place so deep and primal it sent shivers coursing up and down his spine.

 

Rey leaned forward, her lovely mouth only a breadth away from his. “Then I lay claim to you and your endless and powerful imperfections.”

 

 

~*~

 

 

She asserted her ownership with a kiss, her lips touching his with only the slightest hesitation as she figured out how best to proceed, the small gesture a mark of her own inexperience. He allowed her to move at her own pace, to acquaint herself with the shape and feeling of a man’s lips on her own.

 

When he sensed her relax, he wrapped his arms around her, resting his arms at the small of her back. He stroked the fine fabric of her blue dress with his long fingers, wishing there weren’t so many layers of clothing standing in between his hands and her skin. Her lips were pressed against his own, and he tasted them with the tip of his tongue, urging her to part them so that he might show her how to claim him.

 

To his great delight, Rey obliged him, sighing with gratification. He truly savored her then, exploring every inch of her until her small sighs grew in intensity, encouraging him to continue. His hands journeyed across her back, with no particular destination in mind, content to live in the moment and relish what she had blessed him with. To be allowed to touch her thus was, in Ben’s view, the greatest of honors – a dream he barely dared to harbor for fear of how unattainable it seemed. But, somehow, despite his dark and troubled past, she still wanted him, imperfections and all, rejection never entering her mind.

 

His actions must have provided Rey with an unlimited amount of courage, for her lips grew bolder as she adopted his own movements to suit her growing needs. She tasted him in turn until he groaned from the sheer pleasure of it, her desire spiking his own at a rapid pace.

 

Her hands fisted his nightshirt, as if the innocuous fabric offended her, pulling at it with impatience. The gesture caused Ben to smile against her lips, and he broke the kiss then, pausing for some much-needed air. His eyelids fluttered open and he gazed at her countenance, absorbing her swollen lips, her flushed cheeks, her dazed and wondrous eyes.

 

“I don’t want to stop,” she gasped, still holding the thin fabric in her hands. “Not now. Not ever.”

 

He cupped her cheek as his other hand travelled down her spine, unsure how to reply to that final request. He would, Ben realized, spend an eternity with her wrapped so lovingly in his arms, listening to the pleasant sound of her breath as it tickled his chin.

 

Her lips slanted against his mouth once more, far more daring and curious this time around. She drank in his groans as his hands wandered across the length of her spine, drawing circles with his thumbs whenever he reached a point that made her sigh with delight. Rey’s movements became bolder as well, as she abandoned his nightshirt and slipped her hands underneath the covers which pooled at his waist. She lifted the fabric of his shirt before resting her palms on his stomach, her inquisitive fingers studying the planes of his muscles – tracing them ever so gently.

 

The contact between her fingers and his skin was startling, sending a strong wave of arousal through his body. A blaze of desire boiled in his veins like a forest fire. His arousal hardened, and it took every ounce of willpower for him to control his urge to burst.

 

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered when she paused to take a deep breath. He pressed his forehead against hers, their breaths uneven. “You enchant me.”

 

“I know,” she replied with a sly smile. “But I will never tire of hearing you say it.”

 

Once she uttered those words, Rey drew back, biting her lower lip ever so slightly. Ben gazed at her expression, his mind a whirlwind of questions as he tried to figure out what she intended to do.

 

Her reply was immediate and surprising. Pulling up her skirts, Rey climbed on top of him until she straddled him with her thighs.

 

“Rey,” he warned her when the thighs in question accidentally brushed against his arousal, eliciting a strangled moan from his mouth.

 

“Just one more kiss,” she said as she lifted his nightshirt, her eyes raking over his taut stomach with eagerness.

 

“One,” he conceded. “Then we will talk.”

 

She lifted her head, studying his face with a curious look. “About what?”

 

“About our future,” came his reply, the corners of his mouth curling up in a smile.

 

“One kiss,” she promised, making the corresponding gesture with her forefinger and rewarding him with a brilliant smile.

 

He closed his eyes then, preparing herself for the beautiful feeling of her eager lips on his own, but, as usual, his clever and beguiling wood nymph surprised him.

 

She placed a kiss on his stomach, his muscles contracting slightly at the sudden contact.

 

“Rey,” he cautioned her, but his warning burst forth accompanied by a laugh.

 

She looked up, as sly as a fox, giving him a knowing smirk.

 

“You never mentioned where,” she teased him, her hands trailing up his exposed stomach, her clever fingers going up until they sneaked under his crumpled shirt and touched his nipples.

 

His breath hitched.    

 

“Tell me about our future,” she said, drawing circles with her forefinger on his chest, circling, one by one, the two round pigmented areas she had touched just moments ago. She teased him until the tips hardened under her ravenous attention. “Tell me everything.”             

 

 

~*~ 

 

 

They agreed on a secret courtship.

 

The thought of such a solution, under normal circumstances, would have been laughable. After all, what had transpired in his bedchamber constituted grounds for an engagement. Yet, the looming threat of the Headless Horseman – as well as Ben’s pressing responsibilities as the police constable in charge of the case – made it impossible for Ben and Rey to publicly declare their intentions.

 

In such a short amount of time, Rey had managed to break through his defenses – those impenetrable walls he had built around his heart with nothing but the sheer strength of will and self-loathing.

 

The week following Magistrate Dooku’s funeral went by in a flurry of activity. Searching parties were organized in an attempt to locate the Horseman during the day, brave men brandishing their muskets and pistols with no discernable resolve. Therefore, it became increasingly difficult for Ben and Rey to find a moment of privacy as long as daytime reigned. Phasma van Tekka watched over her stepdaughter like a hawk above its prey, the desire to subdue evident in the disdainful arch of her brow and the proud tilting of her chin.

 

As a result, the darkness became their solace, and Rey often sneaked inside his bedchamber after dinner to talk and to kiss him goodnight. She would climb on top of him as if she were a feline, her eager fingers caressing his body with a hunger so profound it astonished him. She would trail the tips of her nails across his flushed skin before he stopped her progress, her nimble fingers itching to reach below his waist.

 

“Soon,” he would tell her, taking her impatient hands in his before she unbuttoned his breeches. “When we are married.”

 

He would then press his lips against her eager flesh, lavishing every knuckle and finger with attention until she ceased her protests, smiling as her objections melted into deep and contented sighs.

 

They talked of their childhoods, the happy moments Ben shared with his family before it all fell apart. They spoke of the bond Rey shared with her father and the surprising death of her mother, claimed by a fever when Rey was but a child. His dreams grew less troubled as the days went by, the nightmares scattered like petals in the wind.

 

Most importantly, however, they made plans for the future.

 

“I want to leave Sleepy Hollow behind,” she would tell him. “I want to live with you in New York as man and wife.”

 

The prospect of starting a new life together excited Ben, filling his once empty heart with something akin to hope. That feeling, however, always came entwined with something else – an incandescent warmth he had never experienced before. A nameless, yet tender emotion.

 

“Whatever your heart desires, my dear,” he would tell her, pressing his lips to her forehead, tracing her eyebrows with his thumb to soothe her. 

 

Under the cover of darkness, she gave voice to her silent desires. An existence that was free from the constraints of a small community. A peaceful life unburdened by the taint of horrific killings. An existence filled with tenderness and hope.

 

 

~*~

 

 

The stigma brought forth by the Headless Horseman’s acts of cruelty spread beyond Sleepy Hollow, and soon the small village found itself welcoming fewer and fewer travelers.

 

Fewer and fewer until there were none.

 

There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the Horseman’s attacks, and Ben’s curious mind bristled at how arbitrary the murders appeared. He studied his notes obsessively, until he journeyed to the remote van Hux estate, as dark and dismal as the land it stood on.

 

Ben was eager to return the pile of business letters and the Bible he had borrowed from the study, and he was just as curious to see how Mitaka was faring. The young man had opted to stay on and look after the estate at the request of its new master. As the nearest relation to the van Hux family, Mr. van Tekka inherited the house and lands, his wealth growing beyond the confines of a small village.

 

Soon, Ben arrived at the house and dismounted, grateful to give his horse a reprieve.

 

Before he knocked, he took one final glance at the family tree depicted on the first page of the old Bible. He beheld the meticulous familial ties written in dark ink, bound by swirls that slithered like vines across the parchment.

 

For a brief moment, Ben paused. He glanced at Rey’s name written in fine cursive, right below that of her father’s.

 

The sole heiress of the estate.

 

The last of her line. Alone, just as he.

 

The unmistakable sound of footsteps interrupted his thoughts, followed by the rattling of keys and the creak of a large door. Mitaka answered and soon relieved Ben of his charge, clutching the letters and Bible to his chest before inviting him inside.

 

They spoke for a few hours of the state of Sleepy Hollow and the shared history of the van Hux and van Tekka families, who could trace their lineage as far back as the early days of the Dutch Revolt. The two families owned a considerable amount of land in Sleepy Hollow, and it did not escape Ben’s notice that, with the untimely deaths of Brendol and Armitage van Hux, Lor van Tekka had indeed become an exceedingly wealthy man.

 

Nonetheless, with the reminder of Bazine Netal’s death so fresh in his mind, Ben doubted the Horseman cared for wealth when he attacked his victims. Reverend Van Canady and Galen Van Erso’s coffers were not teeming with riches either at the time of their deaths.

 

When Ben set out to leave, the sun had already set on the horizon.

 

“You could spend the night here, sir,” Mitaka offered as Ben unlocked the front door. “It is not safe to wander off at night with the Horseman set to strike at any minute.”

 

Ben shook his head, his thoughts swamped with concern for Rey’s well-being. If he failed to return, he knew she would worry. “You need not worry on my account. The van Tekka manor is but a short ride away.”

 

Ben stepped out into the darkness, the grim surroundings encircling his dark clothes like a second shadow.

 

“I will accompany you then,” the younger man said, opening a large wardrobe located near the entrance. “At least for half the way,” he added, and produced an old weapon from its hiding place.

 

It was a Charleville musket, with a thin barrel that immediately betrayed the lack of a trumpet shaped ramrod. The model was similar to the muskets Ben remembered seeing as a child in his family home, a quiet place located at the edge of a small forest. His thoughts swirled with memories of his father and uncle going off to hunt, vanishing among the clusters of trees like wandering ghosts.

 

It was a weapon not unlike the ones they took with them to war.

 

To an early grave.

 

Mitaka joined Ben in the darkness, as they both mounted their horses and proceeded at a steady pace. The wind rustled the fallen leaves, a feeble attempt to rouse them from their everlasting slumber.

 

Around the halfway point, the wind grew in intensity, and a sharp chill crawled up Ben’s spine, settling deep into the marrow of his bones. Glancing at Mitaka, he saw the young man clutch his musket in preparation to face an unknown danger.

 

The horses neighed, and Ben held onto the reins of his mount. He urged the animal to move to the side of the muddy road and hide between a cluster of leafless trees. Sweat gathered at his forehead, chilled by the merciless autumn wind.

 

In the distance, Ben heard the echo of a horse’s hooves – a dreadful noise that reverberated through the woods like wildfire.

 

The Horseman emerged from the trees with the strength of an army.

 

He brandished his deadly sword like a general in front of a gruesome battalion, his horse galloping at an abnormal speed. From the corner of his eyes, Ben saw Mitaka cross himself before aiming the musket at the horrifying sight.

 

The creature, however, seemed unbothered by the threat of a charged weapon. He stopped his horse and tilted his body to the side, as if the sight of two frightened men intrigued him. Then, with a swift gesture, the Horseman turned away from them, urging his steed in a gallop.

 

In the opposite way.

 

_The opposite way…_

 

The words registered in Ben’s mind with a shock, as if someone had aimed a weapon at his head and shot him, scattering his remains on the cold and damp earth.

 

“Don’t –”, Ben cried out, but his pleas went unheard.

 

Mitaka pulled the trigger. He shot the Horseman in the back, smoke flowing out of the gun’s orifice like a chimney.

 

When Mitaka finally lowered his gun, his face blanched. Ben followed his companion’s gaze, and the sight that lay before him paralyzed his blood with dread.

 

The Horseman was still standing, as proud and defiant as a shield.

 

 

~*~

 

 

“Run,” Ben said, urging his own horse to move, astonished at how easily the animal obeyed him.

 

The Horseman pursued them, his unholy steed moving at a rapid pace like a deadly shadow in the gathering darkness.

 

Ben looked behind him as often as he could, holding onto his reins until his knuckles turned white. Waves of nausea threatened to spill out of his mouth, his mind a flurry of dizzying terror that almost completely blurred his vision.

 

In the distant corners of his mind, an image leaped out, almost blinding him with its force. A terrifying image of his beloved, tossed to the ground by a deadly shadow.

 

He closed his eyes, as if the small gesture could ward off the terror that brimmed in his chest, the all-encompassing fear of losing someone he –

 

A low hanging branch materialized in front of him, yet Ben was too late to dodge it. His broad chest collided with the obstacle, and the branch sent him flying off his horse. He landed on the ground with a loud thud, clutching his side as he groaned in pain.

 

“Mr. Solo,” he heard Mitaka exclaim, and from the corner of his eye Ben saw the young man stop his horse.

 

“Go,” Ben urged him. “Save yourself.”

 

His warning fell on deaf ears, and Mitaka raised his musket again to shoot. He aimed for the horse this time around, but the bullet had no impact on the undead beast.

 

“Run,” Ben entreated, swaying as he got up on his feet. His legs wobbled as he attempted to look for his horse, but the animal had vanished like a dark shadow dispersed by the night air.

 

The Horseman approached them, gripping his sword in his right hand. Mitaka clutched his weapon and urged his horse on in a swift gallop, the animal’s hooves imprinting the damp soil.

 

In the end, Ben’s knees gave in, and he stumbled to the ground as if in prayer, grasping for reprieve.

 

He looked up, staring where the Horseman’s head should have been. As regret and misery flooded his veins, Ben wondered why he was supposed to meet his end now, when he had finally found a reason to keep living.

 

The Horseman sheathed his sword and grabbed Ben by the lapels of his coat, his undead hands gripping the thick fabric of Ben’s greatcoat.

 

Then, with a forceful movement, he tossed Ben aside as if he were a rag doll.

 

His back collided against a thick oak tree, blurring his vision anew. Gasping for air, Ben lay on his side, watching through the haze as the Horseman returned to his own steed. The creature mounted the beast with practiced ease and continued his pursuit, unbothered by the distance separating him from his prey.

 

In almost an instant, the demon caught up with Mitaka, unsheathing his sword as he sliced off the horse’s hind legs. The horse cried out in pain, sending the young rider and his musket on the merciless ground.

 

Gasping, Mitaka crawled to the weapon in a futile attempt at a last stand. Even in his daze, Ben could glimpse the desperation pouring through the young man’s veins.

 

But the Horseman was quick, raising his sword to cast the final blow.

 

He wedged the blade deep into Mitaka’s back, a blatant mockery of the first shot the young man had fired.

 

At last, Ben swayed to his feet, knowing what was about to come. Even in those final moments, he searched for answers, for a logical explanation to these terrifying events.

 

Victorious, the Horseman removed the sword from Mitaka’s lifeless body, using the young man’s coat to clean his red blade. He held the weapon and prepared for another strike.

 

With a swift movement, the demon lifted his sword, the sharp blade glistening in the moonlight like a bringer of death. Then, as if he were wielding an axe, the Horseman chopped the body in half at the waist.

 

Glancing at the horrible sight, Ben leaned against the tree. Sweat drenched his forehead, and his eyesight blurred anew.

 

Untroubled by the sight which now stretched before him, the Horseman bent down and picked up the upper half of Mitaka’s body. He then strode through the forest as if it were his property, unmoved by the misery left in his wake.

 

A piercing silence descended upon the forest, and Ben felt like a child again, witnessing the death of his mother as he prepared for his own.

 

Again, it never came.

 

If the Horseman recognized him, it was impossible to tell. Ben’s mind was a dissonance of jumbled thoughts, too rattled to cling to the safety of reason. The deep and disquieting silence persisted, and the wind stopped its movements as if to witness the exchange.

 

The creature threw Mitaka’s upper body at Ben’s feet, allowing him to gaze upon the young man’s eyes. His orbs were still, as soulless as the eyes of a great shark, widened from the sword’s initial impact.

 

Then, with an impatient gesture, the Horseman summoned his steed and set off into the woods. The horse’s hooves left no imprints on the cold and damp earth – no markings to proclaim its gruesome presence.  

 

 

~*~

 

 

It took him another two hours to return to the van Tekka manor, freezing and weary, but very much alive. His legs wobbled, more from the shock than the exertion of the journey, having been forced to make his way back on foot. His horse was lost now, somewhere in the depths of the merciless woods.

 

As Ben looked up at the house, he glimpsed a dim lamp resting on the windowsill, partly disguised by the gnarly branches of a bare oak tree.

 

“Rey,” he breathed, knowing all too well the identity of the person who occupied the corresponding chamber. The thought of her waiting for him spurred Ben on, lest he cause her more unnecessary concern.

 

At long last, his hand latched onto the front door’s handle and he pushed it down. He opened the door and stepped inside the dark hallway.

 

A sudden movement reverberated down the stairs, the wooden surface creaking under a set of worried and impatient footsteps.

 

She threw herself in his arms before he could even blink, a soothing presence lighting his way in the darkness that consumed them both. He wrapped his arms around her waist, crushing her to his trembling body, burying his nose in her shoulder as he inhaled her scent – the lavender and bracken he now thought of as home.

 

“What happened?” she asked him when they parted, cupping his cheeks with her hands. “You’re trembling.”

 

He took one of her palms and kissed it, marveling at its softness. “I-I don’t know where to begin.”

 

“You saw the Horseman,” she deduced, as if she could read his mind.

 

Nodding in the darkness, he let go of her, fumbling until he leaned against the heavy door, his knees almost giving in. “He hunts with a purpose, Rey. There are certain people he is after, but I am not sure who and why.”

 

He told her what had happened in the woods, the words pouring out of him like a thunderstorm.

 

“He never took Mitaka’s head,” Ben said, using his coat’s sleeve to wipe his forehead, “which tells me he never intended to kill him. If Mitaka hadn’t shot him, he would still be alive.”

 

A light shone at the top of the stairs.

 

“What is going on?” the weary voice of Mr. van Tekka echoed in the hallway. He descended the stairs, holding a lamp in his left hand, casting the room in a dim glow. His eyes showed no judgement for finding his daughter alone with an unmarried man. Instead, he squinted them in confusion as he descended the stairs.

 

Rey turned around to face her father, her brown hair gleaming in the lamplight. “He saw the Horseman,” she replied, her eyes darting between Ben and Mr. van Tekka.

 

“It is true,” Ben said, straightening his posture as he ran a hand through his hair, a weak attempt to make himself presentable despite the circumstances. “He was after someone, but I cannot imagine who that might be,” he continued as he retold the events from the woods.

 

“We will get Phasma to help us figure this out,” Mr. van Tekka decided. He strode to one of the drawers near the stairway and pulled out a candle. “She knows what people are up to in this village better than all of us combined.”

 

He lit the candle and handed it over to Rey. “Go to her chamber and wake her.”

 

Rey gripped the candle and nodded, sprinting up the steps, her long nightgown flowing behind her like a wave.

 

 

~*~

 

 

As the sound of Rey’s footsteps grew faint, an eerie silence settled throughout the manor.

 

Ben and his host waited for Mrs. van Tekka’s arrival in the lamplight, hoping to uncover even the smallest piece of information that could shed light upon the Horseman’s methods. In the background, a wooden door creaked open, stabbing through the stillness like a thin blade.

 

And then, suddenly, a piercing scream echoed through the house, a sound so terrified Ben’s blood went cold.

 

“Rey,” he cried out as he gripped the staircase railing.

 

In an instant, he sprinted up the stairs two steps at a time, his unsteady legs forgotten in the wake of her distress.

 

Her father followed behind, failing to keep up with Ben’s brisk pace. The light radiating from the old man’s lamp grew dimmer and dimmer as Ben reached the top of the stairs and turned left. He then sprinted down the narrow corridor to Mrs. van Tekka’s bedchamber, fear crawling up his heart like a poisonous vine.

 

Rey stepped out of the room, the candle shaking in her hands. Hot wax dripped down over her fingers, yet the high temperature went unnoticed as her countenance paled in the flickering flame. Blood drained from her face as if her own light had been extinguished, and tears trailed down her cheeks, a flowing river of deep and never-ending distress.

 

“Ben,” she cried out as he reached her, his hands gently clasping her shoulders. “The Horseman…”

 

Her voice broke, the words suffocating in her throat.

 

She buried her face in his chest, wrecked with terror, her sobs agonized and heart wrenching.

 

Understanding settled in his gaze, and he wrapped his arms around her as she dropped the candle to the floor, the flame extinguished before it could reach the wooden surface.

 

“Rey,” Mr. van Tekka called out as he finally reached them. “What happened?”

 

She pulled away for a moment to look at her father, her eyes wide and lost like a child’s. Ben guided her to him, allowing them a much-needed moment of privacy. Mr. van Tekka offered him the lamp, and Ben slipped inside the bedchamber.

 

A few books lay scattered on the floor, small volumes of meaningless charms. Yet these tomes did not interest Ben in the least, his goal located somewhere in the corner of the small chamber, where the bed stood.

 

The heavy wooden structure was pushed against the wall, with dark red curtains attached to its thick pillars. The curtains were drawn closed, as if its occupant wished to sleep undisturbed.

 

Clenching his jaw, Ben held on to the lamp and padded over to the bed, the floor creaking under the weight of his leather boots.

 

He pulled the curtains apart, and his horrified gaze collided with the lifeless body of Phasma van Tekka.

 

A lifeless body, with no head in sight.

 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was a long read. I seriously hope you enjoyed this update. This is probably the chapter that went through the most revisions, so naturally I'm VERY nervous. Quite a lot of things have happened (and some of the mysteries have been revealed). Please let me know what you think of the story and this update! I value all your comments and kudos. Writing can be so solitary at times.


	5. The Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben and Rey get cockblocked by the Horseman. Ben cockblocks himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who supported my previous update. Reading your kind words on AO3 and Tumblr has been amazing, and a huge motivator. I hope you enjoy this update as well! I have three moodboards posted at the end that were gifted to me (by @reylocalligraphy, @ReyloRobyn2011, and @perperuna - Thank you so much!!!!)

 

The following week found them journeying through the forest on horseback. As perilous and ill-advised as the outing was, Ben found it impossible to desist, the deaths of young Mitaka and Phasma van Tekka urging him on to continue the investigation.

 

At the same time, he loathed to leave Rey by herself. Now that the Horseman had claimed the head of a third family member, Rey grew convinced the creature aimed to kill her next, though the reason eluded her. In vain did Ben try to dissuade her, to kiss her worries away with the gentle brush of his lips on her temple. Her respite would fade like dimming sunrays beneath grey clouds, giving way to a tempest of fears.    

 

“If he comes for me,” she had told Ben shortly after her stepmother’s burial, “I don’t want to die alone.”

 

In response, he had embraced her, kissing her forehead and the apples of her cheeks, promising that he would never let that happen. The reminder of that brief vision he’d glimpsed during his second encounter with the Horseman still haunted Ben, but it also filled his soul with renewed purpose. The desire to protect Rey was chief on his mind now, even eclipsing the need to receive the praise of his superiors upon the investigation’s end.

 

And, indeed, Ben was resolved to save her life, to sacrifice himself for her well-being if it came to that. As Snoke, the Horseman had taken everything from him: his childhood, his family, and, at times he believed, his own sanity.

 

But, he was determined not to let this creature have Rey.

 

 _This time, Snoke will not win_ , he said to himself as he held Rey in his arms, caressing her cheeks, kissing her small nose and her soft lips.

 

He loathed to leave her alone but, at the same time, he feared bringing her with him to his investigation. Ben had already encountered the Horseman twice, and his survival was nothing short of a miracle, making him wonder when his unbelievable luck would expire. However, Rey had pleaded, tears welling in her hazel eyes, to let her accompany him.

 

In the end, he gave in.

 

They journeyed until they reached the enormous tree Ben had spotted on the road on the day of his arrival. The sight had remained unchanged since then, the trident-shaped monstrosity still unable to grow any leaves. Its gnarly branches cast dark shadows upon the cold earth, covered as it was with dead foliage and scurrying insects.

 

“We call this The Devil’s Fork,” Rey said as he helped her dismount.

 

She led her mare and tied the reins to a small tree nearby. He secured his own horse next to hers and took Rey’s small hand in his, pausing only briefly at the shock he felt when he touched her cold fingertips.

 

Pressing his lips to her hand, he looked into her eyes. They boasted the same beautiful hazel color as always, yet her gaze was weary, the dark circles under her glistening pupils far too prominent to be ignored.

 

Listening to the stories she told him about her family, Ben knew Phasma and her were not close. However, there was no mistaking her stepmother’s death had distressed Rey deeply, and now he suspected that she too harbored regrets of her own. Her father had also been affected by the untimely death of his second wife, taking to bed with a headache, fatigue, and a broken heart.

 

“We will put an end to this ordeal,” Ben told her, warming up her small hand with his own. He pulled her close to his frame so that he could comfort her, so that he could smell the faint scent of lavender and bracken which enveloped her like a veil.

 

Her free hand touched his cheek, caressing it ever so gently, as only she knew how. “Thank you,” she said with a whisper, even though there were no souls that could hear them in these remote parts. “Thank you for being by my side.”

 

“Always,” he promised, pulling her even closer, slanting his lips over her small mouth.

 

Her hands clutched his coat in an instant, as if she feared losing him. In turn, Ben wrapped his arms around her in a small sign of reassurance. He kissed her beautiful mouth, the apples of her cheeks, her small nose, minuscule gestures into which he poured the wealth of his affection. She responded in kind, kissing his face when he took short breaks to savor her bewitching scent, biting his earlobe ever so slightly until his breath hitched.

 

“There are so many things I wish to tell you,” he said when she nibbled his ear again. “My lovely Rey.”

 

“Tell me, Ben”, she whispered in his ear, her warm breath sending waves of arousal coursing through his veins. It was the same fire he recognized and embraced, the same smoldering embers that could only belong to her.

 

He cupped her cheeks and, as he looked into her eager eyes, he glimpsed small sparks of light trickling in their watery depths.

 

“When I first saw the Horseman,” he began, noticing how her demeanor instantly shifted, her eyes becoming more fearful and guarded.

 

He caressed her right cheek to soothe her. “When I first saw the Horseman, I wanted to die,” he confessed, uttering the words as quickly as he could so that her sorrows would be short lived. “I hoped he would kill me so that I would face my punishment.”

 

“Ben,” she murmured, her hands touching his elbows.

 

“So that I would join my family,” he continued, his left eye twitching. “Wherever they might be.”

 

He pressed a lingering kiss on her forehead, and when he looked into her eyes again he resumed. Emboldened by her touch, his voice became steady and strong. “But then I thought of you, Rey. I thought of you and I found a reason to keep going.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “A reason to live. I did not want to die without kissing you, without seeing your smile, without hearing the beautiful sound of your voice and all the stories you want to tell me. I –”

 

She kissed him then, slanting her mouth over his as if she hungered for his touch, going on her tiptoes so that could lavish his lips with her caress. Ben altered his posture slightly and wrapped his arms around Rey’s small frame, lifting her feet off the ground to make the task of kissing him easier for her.

 

Everything he did was for her and he took delight in it, slipping his tongue inside to taste her, to deepen the kiss Rey had so generously bestowed upon him, like a lady giving a love token to her favorite night. He took all she gave him, basking in her beauty and generosity, using his touch to satisfy her in every way he could, her melodious sighs as enchanting as a symphony.

 

“I love you,” he whispered when they finally drew apart for a much-needed breath. Her lips were parted and glistened beautifully from his attentions, and her eyes were wide and sparkled as if she had just uncovered the secrets of the world.

 

When her feet touched the ground he kissed her again, bending so that she could touch him as she pleased. She ran her hands through his hair as he deepened the kiss, taking in her moans, the pleasant feeling of her fingers digging through his scalp. He took in the unmistakable scent that belonged to her, the lavender and bracken enveloping them both in a fragrant embrace. His hands rested on her waist, unconsciously fiddling with the buttons at the back of her bodice.

 

“I love you too,” she replied when his lips traveled across her jawline, pausing for a fraction of a second near her earlobe as the confession registered in his mind. “Don’t stop,” she urged him, gently tugging at his locks, causing him to smile before he nipped at her ear, eliciting a moan.

 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he whispered in her ear, enjoying how his breath made her fingers curl in his hair.

 

“You know,” Rey said, her voice somewhere between a murmur and a whimper. “You know what I want.”

 

The wind whistled then, shrill and ominous, sending a tremor running through his body, turning the blood coursing through his veins into pure ice as the horses near them neighed.

 

Ben pulled away from her, shielding her body with his own as the earth in front of the monstrous tree split open like an earthquake. However, the ground did not shake. Instead, the wind blew through the tree branches and scattered the lifeless leaves on the ground.

 

A black figure emerged from the depths of the earth, as if bursting through the gates of Hell. He rode a black steed, brandishing an old sword with red stones, his gold uniform so dirty and faded with age it was almost black.

 

He had no head.

 

They had found the Headless Horseman.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

The Horseman rode away from them, his purpose unknown.

 

Ben turned to check on Rey, wrapping his arms around her waist as he glimpsed her startled gaze. Her body trembled from the obvious shock of having seen the Horseman for the very first time.

 

“Come,” he whispered as he brought her hands to his lips, another attempt to warm her freezing fingers.

 

“M-my father,” Rey croaked, as he helped her mount her horse, her wild gaze signaling that she feared the worst.

 

“We do not know,” he cupped her face, schooling his features to keep his own uncertainties at bay.

 

Whatever happened, he vowed to himself that he would help her, share her burdens, provide her with his ever-growing love and devotion. He prayed his meager offering would be enough to keep her demons at bay.

 

The ride back to Sleepy Hollow was silent, frayed by a pervasive sense of doom.

 

There was a commotion near one of the cottages which bordered the village, and he vaguely heard Reverend Palpatine’s lamentation.

 

“Attacking us during the day?” he exclaimed. “What will become of our families?”

 

Ben dismounted, holding his hand to aid Rey. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the notary standing a few feet away from the crowd, his expression inscrutable. Taking Rey hand in his, they strolled in his direction.

 

“Mr. Van Tarkin,” Rey curtsied, and Ben was awed by how she could maintain her composure with so many horrors threatening her mere existence.

 

Van Tarkin acknowledged them with a nod. “The Van Erso family,” he said, his voice far too weary, far too used to the relentless tragedies plaguing Sleepy Hollow. “Lyra Van Erso, and her daughter Jyn. First the Horseman came for the father, and now he has come for a mother and her innocent child.”

 

Ben’s body swayed, the tragedy far too familiar, far too raw. He felt Rey’s hold on his hand strengthen, and the sheer bravery radiating from her small frame stunned him. Only moments ago, he had promised to help her, to share her heavy burdens, as she had done for him since the day of his arrival. And now, with the Horseman claiming more lives in the small community she called home, he should have kept his word.

 

He squeezed her hand in return, his pledge to finally rise as her equal. To prove himself worthy of her love.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

A few days after the Van Erso burial, notary Van Tarkin announced that he planned to leave Sleepy Hollow.

 

“I have had enough of this Headless Horseman,” he proclaimed as he placed yet another book in an already overflowing trunk, looking at Ben as he hovered in the study’s doorway.

 

Ben nodded, his face betraying no emotion. He took in the room’s appearance, the overwhelming amount of papers scattered on the notary’s desk and floor, the proof of his occupation evident for all to see.

 

Stepping inside, Ben regarded Van Tarkin as he looked through a pile of papers, tossing them on the desk to join the others. “What are those?” he asked, hands clasped behind his back.

 

“Useless documents inherited from our two former magistrates,” Van Tarkin replied, his tone disdainful. “As if I do not have enough papers to deal with.”

 

Moving to the bookcase, Van Tarkin grabbed two other volumes, tossing them inside another trunk, just as full of books and trinkets as the previous one.

 

Eyes fixed on the documents the notary had so rashly dismissed, Ben wandered over to the desk. On his way there, he stepped on several other papers which had been tossed aside, picking up those who interested him most at first glance.

 

“You may study them if you want,” Van Tarkin said, gesturing his hand in a dismissive manner.

 

“You are the most influential man left in Sleepy Hollow,” Ben told him instead as he picked up the documents on the desk as well. Arranging the papers into a neat pile for his personal inspection, he resumed. “Are you afraid you might be the Horseman’s next target?”

 

A book dropped, the sound making Ben turn around to look at the notary.

 

“You should not jest about such things,” Van Tarkin warned him.

 

Ben shrugged, resuming his perusal of the first set of papers he held in his hands. “It is merely an assumption. I am in no mood for jests, sir.”

 

“Do you believe so?” Van Tarkin paced the room until he stood next to Ben, his brows furrowed. “I am far from the wealthiest man in Sleepy Hollow, Constable Solo. In fact, following the van Hux murders, Mr. van Tekka holds that distinct honor. If anything, the Horseman should be targeting him.”

 

Van Tarkin turned away, stepping over some of the books which lay scattered across the floor. “The creature already murdered the wife. How long until he comes for the father and daughter?”

 

Ben stilled, his hands clenching the papers. “I believe you have mistaken my words, Mr. Van Tarkin,” he replied in a firm tone. “I spoke of influence, not of money.”

 

“Most of the times they are one and the same. Mr. van Tekka is the most influential citizen in Sleepy Hollow.”

 

As he resumed his perusal, Ben’s left eye twitched. Ignoring the notary’s words, he went over each paper with care, listening to the sounds of books being tossed in trunks and, more often than not, on the old wooden floor.

 

Ben combed over each document with the precision which had been drilled into him as part of his training, the rational part of his brain on high alert. He set aside all the unnecessary papers until he only held two in his hands and.

 

His eyes scanned the documents and, all of a sudden, everything fell into place, as if he had positioned the final bricks and completed the construction of a house with a solid foundation.

 

A foundation built on deductive reasoning.

 

The discovery he made chilled him to the bone.

 

 

 

~*~

 

 

 

He spent hours looking for Rey until, at long last, he found her near the church. The sun slowly sat on the horizon, bathing the sky in hues of orange and purple.

 

As if she sensed his presence, Rey turned around to see him stride towards her. Ben took in her appearance as he advanced, a vision in black standing in between the tombstones – images of death wedged deep into the burial ground. Her dress billowed in the wind like a flag, and her long tresses framed her face, brown waves cascading over her shoulders like a waterfall.

 

“Ben,” she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed, though he could not tell if their appearance was due to the motion of the wind – or the delight of seeing him.

 

He pulled her into his arms anyway, resting his chin on the top of her head, his trembling palms wandering the length of her spine. “I was worried something had happened to you,” he confessed, fear gripping him like a hangman’s noose around his throat.

 

“I am here now,” she replied, pressing her cheek to his chest, right over the notebook nestled in the inner pocket of his greatcoat.

 

Right over his heart.

 

His left eye twitched as he remembered what else he had stuffed in that pocket, the evidence on which his investigation now hinged. Ben clutched to that morsel of knowledge like a drowning man on a piece of floating debris.

 

“There is something I must tell you,” he said when they pulled apart. His hands moved to grasp her elbows, urging her to look him in his eyes. “We have been so blind.”

 

Rey tilted her head to one side, confusion etched on her face. “What do you mean?”

 

“Did you know Brendol van Hux and Bazine Netal were secretly married?”

 

Her eyes widened, the shock of the revelation stunning her into speechlessness. She shook her head, as Ben withdrew his arms and pulled out the two documents from his pocket. “This is a marriage certificate issued by Van Krennic when he served as magistrate. The marriage was performed by Reverend Van Canady, and Dooku served as witness alongside Lyra Van Erso.”

 

Rey perused the document, her curious eyes wandering over the sheet of paper, lips parted at the revelation it contained. “Bazine Netal was pregnant when she was killed,” she mused, her clever mind making the connection in an instant, as the identity of the father materialized before her eyes.

 

“A secret marriage that will have, without a doubt, been publicized. If not for their sudden deaths,” Ben told her, raking his fingers through his hair. “Read the other document. It belongs to notary Van Tarkin.”

 

She did just that, and her hands trembled as she perused the parchment. “Cousin Armitage was disinherited,” she stated, her voice coated in disbelief. “In favor of the unborn child. Magistrate Dooku also served as witness.”

 

“I was told Brendol van Hux disapproved of his son’s spending,” Ben said.

 

“But Cousin Armitage couldn’t have killed them,” Rey protested. “That does not make any sense given the timing of his own death.”

 

Ben nodded, the look in his eyes grim and final. “I know.”

 

Rey glanced at the documents again and, after a few moments, realization hit her like a stone sinking at the bottom of a lake. “Ben,” she warned him, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t say it.”

 

His throat constricted, as he registered the gravity of the situation, taking the documents from Rey’s limp hands and folding them. He placed them in his pocket, where the thick leather notebook lay nestled, weighing down his bleeding heart.

 

“I believe your father is controlling the Headless Horseman,” he said, uttering the words with as much strength as he could muster. “I believe he wanted the van Hux lands and killed everyone who stood in his way. The secret marriage between Brendol van Hux and Mrs. Netal required that all witnesses be eliminated.”

 

Rey shook her head, tears trailing her cheeks. “I don’t believe that. My father is a good man.”

 

“Reverend Van Canady performed the marriage, Galen Van Erso attended the pregnant wife, Magistrate Van Krennic ensured the legitimacy of the marriage, and Magistrate Dooku served as witness,” Ben said, his cheeks flushing with each new revelation. “Armitage van Hux knew his father disowned him in favor of the unborn child, and Van Tarkin, as the notary of Sleepy Hollow, was responsible for the new will.”

 

He looked into her eyes, and instantly hated himself. His next words came out in a weak voice. “All of them are dead.”

 

“And you reached this conclusion based on your deductive reasoning?” she challenged him, her tone vicious and wounded, each syllable a bullet wedged into his soul. “Van Tarkin is still alive,” she added. “Or have you come to tell me that my father murdered him as well?”

 

“Van Tarkin has left town,” Ben replied.

 

Rey crossed her arms. “And what about my stepmother?” she asked. “Phasma’s name is not mentioned in these papers. She had nothing to do with this, unless you are implying Mrs. Netal confided in her.”

 

“It is a possibility,” came his reply, and he loathed himself for how quickly and easily he could counter her arguments. “Your father mentioned Phasma knew what everyone in the village was up to. He said so when he asked you to wake her up that night.”

 

Rey’s hands clenched her dress, her thin fingers digging into the dark fabric of her skirt. “How could you say that? Accuse my father of using me to conceal his crime,” she exclaimed, her breathing uneven. “You are implying that my own father used me to find her body. Do you have any idea what seeing her like that did to me? My father would never do such a thing.”

 

“All the clues lead to him, Rey,” Ben said, lowering his voice. It was, he knew, a weak attempt to dampen her suffering from a revelation that threatened to jeopardize her world and her sanity. The very beauty of her soul. “I am so sorry.”

 

She shook her head, her brown hair flowing in the wind like that of a fierce warrior. “You might know how a police investigation works, Ben,” Rey said, her once eager eyes dulled by pain. “But I know my father. He supported Magistrate Van Krennic when he wrote to New York to summon you after the van Hux murders, he offered you his hospitality, his home. He was nothing but generous and supportive, with no ulterior motives whatsoever.”

 

“He could have done that to conceal his own involvement.”

 

“If he wanted his crimes concealed, he would not have involved the authorities in the first place,” she cried out, and he could do nothing but stare, the strength of her argument difficult, if not impossible to counteract. 

 

She closed in on him then, fully aware that he had pushed himself into a corner. He stepped back, colliding with a tombstone as he moved. He gripped the ancient stone, his hands sweating as his foolish mistake dawned on him.

 

“And what about Jyn Van Erso?” Rey asked him, tilting her head up to look into his eyes, the fury in her gaze piercing him like a dagger. “Her mother served as witness to the marriage, but Jyn was merely five. Are you implying my father would kill an innocent child?”

 

“Rey –”

 

She slapped him, the impact of her palm on his cheek punishing. He placed his hand where hers had been, feeling his skin redden from the sting, mixing in with his embarrassment and his deep and utter regret.

 

“If you accuse my father, you accuse me,” she told him. Her voice shook with anger and, Ben realized, to his utter shame, disappointment. “I am my father’s heir. The last of our line. I benefit from his inheritance just as much, if not more than he does.”

 

She paused then, her breathing labored, as if she balanced the weight of the world on her shoulders. “My father is far too old to enjoy his riches, and I am certain his pain over losing yet another wife will send him to his grave soon.”

 

“Rey,” he extended his hand to her, a weak gesture of reconciliation, but she recoiled from him as if he’d poisoned her.

 

Her small hand slipped inside one of her dress’s pockets. She fished out an embroidered handkerchief, her fingers clutching the small piece of fabric until her knuckles turned white. It was, Ben realized, the same handkerchief she had used to wipe off his forehead in this very burial ground, eager to help him from the moment he asked for her assistance.

 

“I think you should go, Mr. Solo,” she said, wiping off her tear-stained cheeks. She dabbed at the corners of her eyes, in the small places where more tears threatened to escape their confinement.

 

“Rey –”, Ben pleaded, itching to pull her in his arms again, to apologize for the pain he knew he had caused.

 

However, his feet remained firmly planted on the cold and hard soil, the cursed rational part of his mind aware Rey wanted nothing to do with him any longer. His accusations were far too hurtful, far too cruel and damning to be granted any consideration.

 

She turned away from him, her steps heavy on the dead earth as she withdrew. Ben studied her silhouette as it merged with the impending night, the last rays of sunlight fading away from the horizon. Yet, not even the dimming light could disguise the sheer strength and dignity radiating from her gait.

 

 _I don’t deserve her forgiveness either way_ , he mused to himself as the wind intensified, ruffling his hair and blocking his vision.

 

He lowered his eyes to the ground, clenching his right fist as his fingers trembled. Above him, lightening pierced the sky, a jagged silver blade slashing through the gathering darkness. A lone tear trailed down his cheek, and he let the cold wind dry it, followed by another drop, as eager to escape as the first.

 

By the time the third tear came, he was sobbing.

 

\--

 

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a bit of Crylo at the end. I hope you liked this update as well. Admittedly, I'm a bit nervous, since it's a shorter update and more of a transition chapter after what went down in the previous one. However, everything is in place for what I have planned next, so I hope you'll stick around on this journey! 
> 
> I value all your comments and kudos, so I'd love to hear your thoughts. P.S.: The rating will go up in the next update. :) 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading my story, and thank you again to @reylocalligraphy, @ReyloRobyn2011, and @perperuna for the moodboards.


	6. The Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic! At the Church

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who supported my previous update. This fic just hit 150 kudos! As usual, I hope you enjoy this new chapter. It's.... a crazy ride. I think lol.

 

Only the thoughts of Rey’s safety pulled him away from the burial ground, his cheeks stained with tears. His sharp gaze betrayed the depth of his concern, his brown eyes akin to a wild animal tossing and turning in its cage.

 

The wind had intensified and, as the first drops of rain fell from the angry sky, his first instinct was to find her – to make sure she didn’t catch a cold in this cold weather.

 

By the time he reached the old stone church, it was pouring. He entered the building to find shelter, praying Rey was already home, safe from the merciless thunderstorm.

 

He found her inside the church, seated in one of the front pews, deep in prayer and seemingly unaware of the storm raging outside.  

 

Ben’s left eye twitched, and a new wave of shame flooded his body. In his arrogance and blind certainty, he had wounded her, his vicious accusation now a stain he could never undo or erase. He looked away, believing himself unworthy to even gaze upon the back of her head. What did he expect to accomplish from tossing claims he knew were not compatible with her father’s conduct? He raked a hand through his hair, pulling at his locks until his scalp prickled, the urge to scream at himself overpowering.

 

“I am not praying,” he heard her steady voice echo in between his ruminations.

 

Ben turned around, looking at her from the corner of his eye, flushing as she watched him over her shoulder and feeling like he’d been caught stealing a pie from the larder.

 

“You should not pull your hair like that,” she continued, her voice weary. “I would hate to see you wear a periwig.”

 

Something inside him burst, as if she had lit a cache of gunpowder and set him ablaze, breaking through every barrier he’d erected in his mind.

 

“Rey,” he cried out, running down the aisle until he reached her, at long last.

 

He kneeled at her feet, taking her small hands in his, kissing her knuckles, squeezing her trembling fingers. “Rey, Rey, Rey,” he moaned in between kisses, her name a benediction.

 

When he lifted his head to look at her, she noticed that her eyes were gleaming. “He didn’t do it,” she whispered. “He couldn’t have. I know him.”

 

“Yes, my love,” he said, cupping her left cheek, wiping off an errand tear with his thumb. “I know that now. It was stupid of me to assume so. I am sorry, Rey. I am so sorry I hurt you.”

 

She squeezed his other hand. “I don’t know who is behind these murders. Maybe my father has enemies, or maybe it is a terrible coincidence and the Horseman simply listens to no one. You saw how he emerged from the ground that day near The Devil’s Fork.”

 

Ben nodded, placing a kiss on her tear strained cheek. “I will not let him take you, Rey,” he promised her. “I would give my life to keep you safe.”

 

“I don’t want your life,” she told him, letting go of his hand as if he had burned her. She stood up, her arms wrapped around her frame. “Don’t talk like that.”

 

He went up to her and gently unwrapped her arms, bringing her hands to his lips once more. “What do you want, Rey? Tell me what you want, and I will give it to you. I will atone for all the foolish things I said and did, for all the pain I caused you.”

 

Slipping her hands out of his, Rey brought them to his chest, resting over his heart, where his notebook and the cursed documents lay. “I want your trust, Ben.”

 

He melted into her arms then, bringing her close to him so he could inhale her scent. “You have it, my love.” He kissed her cheeks. “My Rey.”

 

Pressing his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes, tears prickling at the corners. He had come so close to losing her, and the hurt he had glimpsed in her eyes when they stood in the burial ground, as the sun melted away on the horizon, had pierced him like a bullet through the heart. Now, as they stood together in the dimly lit church, he vowed that he would never put her through such misery again, that he would stop at nothing to prove himself worthy of her.

 

 Raising her hands, she caressed his hair, the same locks he had pulled at so incessantly only moments ago.

 

“And I want your love,” Rey said, her voice trembling, barely above a whisper. “Will you give me that as well, Ben?”

 

Spellbound by her voice, he opened his eyes, pulling his forehead away from hers. “Yes,” he rasped, his gaze lowering until it focused on her parted lips. “Let me show you.”

 

His mouth claimed hers at long last, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, drowning in the irresistible scent of lavender and bracken.

Meanwhile, outside the church, the storm continued to rage.

 

 

~*~

 

 

It both astonished and frustrated Ben to find out how many layers of Rey’s clothing he had to remove, just for the simple act of cupping her breast.

 

First, he relieved Rey of her heavy dress, and the black fabric pooled on the wooden floor like dark water. Her petticoats came next, endless lengths of pristine white fabric which, when discarded, resembled a pair of big fat clouds. Her stays were far more challenging to remove, cross laced as they were at the back. He huffed when he first discovered that pertinent detail, eliciting the loveliest chuckle from Rey, who seemed intent on teasing him.

 

“It seems I must require assistance,” she said as she turned around, her invitation obvious. “My maid has recently vanished, you see.”

 

Ben kissed the nape of her neck, delighting in how easily her breath hitched. He began unlacing her as quickly as he could, pausing from time to time just to nibble at her earlobe.

 

When he placed her stays on the front pew, Ben took in Rey’s appearance as she turned around. Clothed only in her white chemise, she looked the picture of innocence. However, her matching silk stockings said otherwise, secured as they were by pale pink garters. On her feet, she wore a simple pair of black shoes and, as he ran a finger over her exposed collarbone – causing her breath to catch ever so slightly – Ben decided he was going to ask her to keep them on.

 

For now at least.

 

The request caused Rey to raise her eyebrows in confusion, but when he started toying with the bottom hem of her simple chemise, her confused look changed into one of understanding and a mischievous smile broke across her face.

 

She lifted her arms as he removed her chemise, discarding the flimsy garment with the rest. Soon enough she stood in front of him unclothed, save for her stockings, shoes, and garters, bathed in candlelight like a goddess.

 

Enchanted, Ben cupped her breasts then, the contrast between his calloused hands and her soft skin eliciting a deep sigh from her parted lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring her velvety skin, thankful for the privilege of touching her – flushed and bare, panting heavily with what he hoped was desire.

 

“You delight me,” he told her after his eyelids fluttered open. He took in her lovely visage then – her sun-kissed face, her glistening lips, and the charming way her eyes sparkled as he toyed with her breasts.

 

Ben circled her left nipple with his forefinger, teasing her, trying to uncover what she liked most. As he moved, Rey’s eyes closed then, giving Ben the answer he sought in an instant, strengthening his resolve to pleasure her even further. When he rolled the aching nub with his fingers, she gasped, a small sound that reverberated through the empty church.

 

“Do you like that?” he asked her, his free hand moving to cup her cheek, a silent plea to face him while his fingers continued to arouse her.

 

She opened her eyes and nodded, as if speech eluded her in that moment. Smiling, Ben released her aching body, and Rey elicited the most adorable disgruntled whimper he had ever heard.

 

“I will take care of you,” he promised.

 

In an instant, Ben’s mouth latched on to her nipple, right where his fingers had been only seconds ago. Rey audibly gasped at the contact, the surprised sound dissolving into a strangled moan. His tongue darted out to taste her, grazing the aching peak with his teeth enough to awaken her, desperate to show the extent of his love.

 

In response, she ran her hands through his hair, pulling him closer to her aching body in a wordless plea to continue his attentions. Ben did just that, lavishing her left nipple with his tongue, then grazing it once more with his teeth to delight in her moans. When he was satisfied with how much pleasure the gesture had brought her, he moved to her other nipple, repeating the same movements he now knew she enjoyed. He acquainted himself with her body even further, the storm raging outside the church forgotten under the strength of their mutual affection.

 

“You are still dressed,” Rey murmured when he kissed the valley of her breasts, and he thought he heard her chuckle when she said so, amused by the absurdity of the situation.

 

Ben kneeled then, kissing her stomach before looking up at her expectant face. The apples of her cheeks flushed with the proof of her arousal, and her eager gaze had darkened – tinged by a hunger she too could scarcely contain.

 

“I will count on you to remedy that,” he said, pressing another kiss on her belly before moving lower. “But not yet.”

 

He parted her legs and then pressed a kiss at the apex of her thighs, the tip of his wicked tongue darting out ever so slightly. Then, he buried his nose in the thatch of curls, desperate to take in her essence. She was slightly wet, and he gave her an experimental lick to taste her arousal.

 

“Ben,” Rey gasped at the sensation, her fingers digging into his scalp.

 

He kissed her core again in response, his tongue eager to nurture her. Aroused by the scent of her essence, he licked her again, his own arousal hardening at the sweet sounds of her moans.

 

“Please don’t stop,” he heard Rey whimper, fingers raking through his hair to bring his face closer to her core.

 

Curling his lips into a smile, Ben obliged, hiking her right leg over his shoulder for better access. Using his fingers to part Rey’s wet folds, Ben lapped at her with his tongue, holding on to her trembling body to steady her.

 

The moans Ben elicited out of her were intoxicating, going straight to his already bulging arousal. Nonetheless, her strangled whimpers spurred him on, and his large fingers toyed with her small mound as his mouth drank her in with ravenous hunger. He took in each new wave of her excitement, coating his lips and tongue with her essence. She was incredibly wet for him, and Ben’s shaft hardened even further at the thought that he was pleasuring her so thoroughly. He was eager to be inside her, to find his own release in between her trembling thighs as he spilled his seed inside her tight entrance.

 

However, in his heart, Ben knew that he needed to take his time – to arouse Rey enough to be able to take all of him in, to stretch her tight hole enough for his arousal to fit. He wanted, with a desperation that bloomed in his chest like a burning flower, to make this experience pleasurable for her, to give Rey the only gift he knew would elate her, regardless of time and place.

 

So, Ben continued to pleasure her with his mouth, his tongue licking and lapping at her core, her delightful curls tickling his lips. He probed her tight entrance with the tip of his tongue, listening to the sound of her moans grow in intensity as he memorized every inch of her wet skin. Meanwhile, his fingers continued to tease her, caressing Rey’s aching mound until he found a bundle of nerves that set her on edge, a nub so sensitive and delicious it made her scream in pleasure when he rubbed it with his thumb. He continued his ministrations, sensing, from the strong grip she had on his hair, that this was how he could best satisfy her increasing desire – how he could help her reach the summit she aimed to conquer.

 

She came on his mouth with a scream, the echoes reverberating through the empty church, her pleasure a sheer blessing to his ears.

 

Satisfied, he kissed Rey’s swollen folds one final time, taking in her tremors as he pressed his lips on the thatch of wet curls. Feeling her fingers go limp in his hair, he took her hands in his and stood up. Looking down at her half-lidded gaze, he saw her eyes glisten as moisture gathered at their corners.

 

He brushed her tears away with his thumb, concerned etched into the small gesture.

 

“Are you well?” Ben asked afterwards, tilting her chin up as he caressed her jawline. The fear that he had not pleasured her sufficiently gnawed at him, eating away at his heart like a wild animal devouring its prey.

 

In response, Rey melted into his embrace, her knees unsteady from the force of her climax. Ben took her in his arms then, caressing her shoulder with his thumb as she pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek. Carrying Rey like a bride, Ben helped her sit down on the front pew. Then, parting her trembling legs, he kneeled between them – a knight in service to his queen.

 

“Are you all right?” he asked again, stroking her tear-stained cheek with his knuckles ever so softly.

 

She replied with a kiss, pressing her lips to his with clear enthusiasm, the tip of her tongue darting out to silently ask to let her claim him. Ben did just that, parting his own lips and giving her free reign to do as she pleased. Rey’s tongue delved deep to taste him and, as his eyes closed, Ben felt her hands caress his head, massaging his scalp where she had pulled his hair just moments ago.

 

The thought made him smile against her lips.

 

“What is it?” she asked as she pulled away, her lips swollen and moist.

 

His thumb drew circles on her chin. “I was thinking about that periwig you mentioned,” he quipped as the corners of his eyes crinkled.

 

A radiant smile lit up her entire face brighter than candlelight. “I will never let that happen,” Rey told him. “I promise I’ll be gentle with you, Ben.”

 

“Will you?” He tilted her chin up, delighting in the mischievous glint that sparkled in her eyes. “What do you have in mind, my dear?”

 

Rey chuckled, a soft and luxuriating sound that enveloped his heart in the smoothest silk. “I think I will start with your clothes, Ben.” She tugged at his cravat, the simple knot giving in with ease. “You are far too overdressed for church.”

 

 

~*~

  

 

 

Rey unbuttoned his greatcoat with haste, throwing the offending item on the wooden floor.

 

The heavy garment joined her matching black dress in holy matrimony – two layers which protected them from the elements, but, in the current circumstance, were nothing but an inconvenience. His waistcoat, cravat and shirt soon followed, and then Rey guided him to sit in the front pew, right where she had rested only moments ago as she throbbed with the impact of her climax. She removed Ben’s boots and stockings, and then unbuttoned his breeches with the efficiency of a well-trained valet, her eagerness not impeding her progress at all.

 

He stood up and discarded his breeches, and soon he was as naked as the day he was born. His arousal jutted out towards Rey’s expectant face, while she still wore her shoes, stockings and garters.

 

An idea occurred to him then, and Ben pulled her up to his chest, kissing her lips before he asked her to sit down.

 

“I did not even get to ogle you,” Rey whined as she sat down, parting her legs to make room for his large frame. She gave him an unimpeded view of her core, her wet folds and curls glistening with her moisture.

 

Ben wet his lips before going to his knees. Smirking, he flicked her nub, eliciting another series of moans from Rey as he teased her anew.

 

In the distance, he heard the storm continue to rage, unyielding and tempestuous. “We have time,” Ben promised, his palms moving to caress her smooth thighs. “We have all the time in the world.”

 

His wandering hands went down her legs, until he finally reached her shoes and removed them, placing the two items somewhere near the front pew.

 

“What are you planning?” Rey asked him, and he looked up at her eager face, smiling as his hands caressed her small ankles.

 

Ben lowered his head, and his teeth latched onto one of her pink garters. He tugged gently before pulling the garter down her leg, gazing into her eyes all the while. Rey’s lips parted in understanding, and she fixed her eyes firmly on his, mesmerizing him with the sheer want he discerned in their depths. He repeated the same movement with her other garter, caressing her calves when he successfully removed it.

 

He then removed her stockings with his hands, stroking her legs with his large palms as he progressed, pausing for a fraction of a second when he glimpsed Rey wet her lips from the corner of his eye.

 

As soon as she was naked, Ben pounced on her, pulling her up and crushing his lips to hers like a starving beast. She sighed against him, melting into his arms, her palms resting on his chest, her short nails digging into his skin.

 

“Let me see you,” she told him when they pulled for air, and Ben obliged, letting her look at him from head to foot.

 

She started with his shoulders, caressing them with her palms before moving down his biceps, taking her time as she traced his muscles with the tips of her fingers. His chest followed, and Rey placed a kiss over his heart before resting her hand there, the contact sending another spike of desire through Ben’s aroused body, his shaft hardening until it took him every ounce of willpower to delay an embarrassingly early climax.

 

His Rey was an inquisitive minx, and despite how close he was to spilling his seed, Ben delighted in how enthusiastically her hands wandered across the expanse of his chest.

 

She sighed over each nook and crevice she found interesting, circling his nipples with her fingers until his breath hitched. Then, sometimes, when he least expected it, Rey even kissed the hard pigmented skin with her soft lips, running her tongue experimentally over his nipples as he had done to her before. His hands fisted in her hair when that happened, gently massaging her scalp with the tips of his fingers.

 

“You are so strong,” she exclaimed after running her tongue over his left nipple. “And you taste so good.” Resting her cheek over his heart, Rey sighed. “Like grass, and rain, and musk.”

 

He kissed her forehead, not knowing how to reply to her statement.

 

However, much to his amusement, his silence did not deter Rey. Soon enough, she began lavishing the lower part of his body with attention. His hard arousal jutted out from his hips, as if it had been born for this moment, preening under Rey’s scrutiny.

 

She kneeled in front of him, her eyes wide. “It’s so big,” she exclaimed, her fingers only a breath away from touching his member.

 

“It will fit,” he assured her, taking her hands in his and pulling Rey to her feet.

 

He could not deny that her praise had inflated his self-worth to almost insurmountable heights, but, at the same time, he feared he would come all over her hand if she touched him.

 

“Let me show you, Rey.”

 

With a sigh of complete satisfaction, Ben sat down in the front pew and cocked two fingers at her, his invitation obvious.

 

Smiling, Rey made her way to him and his visible arousal, stepping on their clothes as she reached her destination. He guided her, and soon Rey sat on top of him, legs parted and knees bent, her lips only a breath away from his. She kissed his mouth, rocking her already wet core against his arousal, as if instinctually knowing how he was supposed to fit inside her.

 

His breath hitched at the contact.

 

“Touch me,” Rey demanded.

 

Ben complied, moving one hand to part her folds, finding her impossibly warm and pliant. He circled her entrance with his finger.

 

“You’re so wet,” he rasped before she planted another kiss on his lips.

 

“I hold you accountable for it,” she teased him. “How are you going remedy this predicament?”

 

He didn’t reply with words, but instead positioned himself so that his arousal poked her tight entrance. Guessing his intent, Rey lifted her hips slightly, using his shoulders to support her weight.

 

Then, slowly, Ben began the task of pushing himself inside her, inch by inch, hoping she could take him. The flared head of his arousal came first, stretching her tight entrance in an instant. As he entered her, Ben almost saw stars, his mind dizzying with excitement as he watched how she took him in.

 

Then, all of a sudden, Rey cried out. Ben immediately stilled, and he scrambled to pull out, fearful he had injured her. However, Rey’s small hands squeezed his shoulders, and he jolted to attention, his concerned gaze resting on her face.

 

“Don’t,” she rasped, her eyes closed as if in deep concentration. “Let me get used to this. You feel so good inside me, Ben.”

 

He nodded, even though she could not see him in that moment. Kissing the tip of her nose, Ben allowed Rey to take her time and set the pace of their lovemaking.

 

“Anything for you, Rey,” he whispered as one of his hands stroked her back. In response, she simply nodded, her eyes still closed as she bit her lower lip.

 

After a few moments of silence, Rey’s eyelids fluttered open. She nodded at last, signaling that she was ready to take all of him inside her. He kissed her clever mouth before he continued, grazing her lower lip with his teeth.    

 

Ben eased her down on top of him, relieved when he heard her reward his effort with a pleasurable sigh. She gazed into his eyes as she took him in, her skin flushed and glistening in the candlelight, every inch an empress.

 

“You feel so good, Ben,” she rasped when he finally buried himself inside her to the hilt. He exhaled a deep breath, pressing his forehead to hers.

 

“I love you,” he said, his warm palms resting on her spine, trailing soothing circles with his thumbs. “You are the bravest, most incredible woman I’ve ever met.”

 

She buried her nails in his shoulders. “I love you too, Ben,” she replied, her words a murmur that still echoed in the empty church. “Make love to me. Show me.”

 

With a final kiss, Ben settled his hands on her hips, moving Rey’s body in gentle rocking motions, rubbing her core against him to give her pleasure. Soon enough, she rewarded him with her loud moans, as if she had been waiting a lifetime for this moment. Wasting no time to memorize the movements he had taught her, Rey soon began to grow braver with her motions. She rubbed her aching mound as she moved, her tight entrance clenched around his hard length, bathing him with her arousal.

 

Smiling, Ben let go of her hips, allowing Rey to set her own pace, unconcerned about his own gratification. As he gazed at her seated so lovingly on top, gripping his member inside her wet passage, Ben knew that he would take pleasure in anything she did – anything she chose to give him.

 

Left to her own devices, Rey wasted no time in trying different motions, her instinct incredibly sharp despite her inexperience. Soon, she began moving up and down his length, eyes half-closed and tinged with desire, her visage wild and glorious as her fingers dug into his shoulders.

 

Meanwhile, Ben used his fingers to rub her swollen core, sending tendrils of pleasure coursing through her. Her whimpers were the most beautiful reward he could possibly imagine, sending him closer and closer to the edge of something new and wondrous. He was so big, and she had taken all of him inside her with courage and enthusiasm, and Ben hoped from the bottom of his heart that she felt as full and well-loved as he did.

 

As she continued to move on top of him, Ben felt his release close upon him. As his own moans intensified, his mind was consumed by one distinct desire: the need for Rey to reach that summit with him, to burst into a million different pieces. As her movements became more hurried, Ben continued to rub the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs, drawing circular movements with his thumb. The relief that flooded through him as Rey’s whimpers grew louder was palpable, and her moans mixed together with his in an intoxicating blend, echoing through the old church like an ancient song.

 

“I love you so much,” he breathed like a man desperate for water. “My love, my Rey.”

 

Her reply came in the shape of more whimpers, too focused on the precision of her movements to even attempt to speak.

 

At some point during their lovemaking, she grabbed his hair, pulling it roughly to tilt his face upwards and claim his lips. She devoured him, kissing him roughly and biting his lower lip until she drew blood. Ben reveled in her touch, the wildness of the gesture unleashing something deep and primal within him. Rey feasted on his lips, making him groan against her mouth as he neared his climax. He continued to rub her core at a quick pace, trying to bring her with him to a blissful end.

 

And, soon enough, it finally happened. They peaked together, their cries of pleasure married in a sacred ritual.

 

Outside the church, the storm came to an abrupt and ominous end.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Panting, they came back to life.

 

Rey sat on his lap until she milked him whole, her core throbbing from her powerful release. Ben had come inside her with a vengeance, his vision blurring until there was only Rey he could see - her eager eyes, her kind smile, her fierce and brilliant mind.

 

When they stood up, he kissed her one last time, smiling against each other’s lips all the while. As soon as they parted for air, they began making themselves as respectable as they could, dressing each other as if they were in the comfort of their own home instead of the village church.

 

As she arranged his cravat, a chuckle escaped Rey’s lips.

 

“What is it?” he asked her, the corners of his eyes crinkling at how utterly enchanting she looked in her crumpled dress and mussed hair.

 

“I was thinking about our wedding,” she said as she placed a hand over his heartbeat, her palm settling on the now forgotten notebook and papers nestled in his pocket. “And how Reverend Palpatine will have to marry us here.”

 

His lips lifted in a secret smile, and he took her hand and pressed his mouth to her knuckles. “Nobody will know,” he promised. “It will be our carefully guarded secret.”

 

Rey nodded, pulling her hand away as she turned around to sit in the front pew, where he had loved her to completion just minutes ago. Sitting down, she immediately winced.

 

Ben went on his knees in an instant, taking her hands in his, squeezing her fingertips and bringing them to his lips. “I hurt you,” he said, regret flooding his chest.

 

Rey shook her head, a knowing smirk playing at her lips. “I am only a bit sore,” she told him, combing his hair with her thin fingers. “But it is a pleasant soreness. I loved what you did to me, Ben.”

 

A sigh of relief escaped his lips, the exhale adding years to his lifespan. “I could do it again,” he replied, his mind already wandering, thinking of how and where he would pleasure her next. “Once you are feeling better.”

 

“I cannot wait then,” Rey answered, tilting up his chin so that she could kiss him. She pressed her lips to him in a gentle manner, lavishing his bottom lip with attention. Her tongue nurtured the place where she had bitten him moments ago and drew blood.

 

Her touch soothed his aching heart, coating it in a layer of affection that made him feel as if he could face the wrath of the world for her sake.

 

“I cannot wait to be your husband, Rey,” he told her when they parted for breath. “I cannot imagine a greater honor.”

 

Her reply froze on the tip of her tongue, as a sudden commotion outside the church brought them both to their feet. A feeling of foreboding crawled through his frame, clutching at Ben’s flesh as if he were being devoured by a wild and terrible beast.

 

As the church door opened, Ben wrapped his arms around Rey, heart pounding in his aching chest.

 

 

~*~

 

 

A flurry of men, women and children burst inside the old church, panicked expressions etched on their countenances.

 

Among them, Ben spotted Mr. van Tekka, his dark mourning clothes rumpled. Intrigued, he guided Rey towards her father. Rey wrapped her arms around the old man, concern evident in her gaze as the church became filled to the brim with people.

 

From the corner of his eyes, Ben saw a group of men bar the heavy door. Then, they turned to their companions and picked up their muskets.

 

“What is going on?” Rey asked her father, her voice etched with worry.

 

“The Horseman.” Mr. van Tekka’s reply came with an anguished sigh. The words weighed him down, as if someone had tied stones around his waist and dumped him in a lake to die. “The Horseman has killed Mr. Van Tarkin and he is now headed here.”

 

Rey gasped, and Ben’s fist clenched with unspoken fury. He wondered when this nightmare would end, when the Horseman would unveil his true purpose.

 

From the despair coating Mr. van Tekka’s voice, it was evident the man had nothing to do with these murders, and Ben chastised himself anew. A fresh wave of regret flowed inside him, travelling through his veins until it reached his heart. His hand found Rey’s, touching the tips of her fingers with his, another silent promise to atone blossoming in his chest, tangling itself with his remorse.

 

Sounds of broken glass reverberated through the church, and Ben turned around among the panicked congregation sitting and standing in the room. He watched as a group of men used their rifles to break through the glass windows.

 

“The Horseman is here,” he heard Reverend Palpatine wail from one of the corners of the church, the clergyman’s trembling hands clutching his white periwig. “Kill him, kill him.”

 

“It won’t harm him,” Ben exclaimed, turning his attention to the ailing reverent, the reminder of Mitaka’s death still etched in his mind.

 

However, nobody heeded his words, and the men started shooting through the broken glass.

 

The first bullet caused Ben to flinch, his arms wrapping around Rey’s frame as if by instinct. She buried her face in his chest, her small nose grazing the worn fabric of his greatcoat. If the gesture bothered her father, the old man showed no signs, far too worried about the commotion in the church to pay them any mind.

 

“We are all doomed,” Reverend Palpatine exclaimed, making his way through the assembled crowd to the front of the aisle, where a dais stood flanked by two large windows.

 

He stepped on the dais, his robes fluttering from the exertion and the gusts of wind coming through the broken windows.

 

“We are going to die in our Lord’s home,” the reverend exclaimed, taking off his periwig and throwing it to the ground. The white thatch of hair concealed underneath was mused, yet that did not stop the clergyman from pulling at it. “The Horseman will kill us all.”

 

“Reverend Palpatine, please,” Mr. van Tekka reasoned, his hands extended in supplication. “You are frightening the children.”

 

He gestured to a small group of younglings seated in the second row of pews, all of whom clutched to their mothers as tears streamed down their anguished faces.

 

Reverend Palpatine, however, was unyielding, his wild gaze fixed on Mr. van Tekka with renewed purpose. “This is all your fault, van Tekka,” he exclaimed, his voice impossibly loud despite the sounds of gunfire in the room. “It is you the Horseman wants.”

 

A woman started wailing at the announcement, the shrill sound echoing through the church. Ben pressed a kiss to Rey’s forehead, wiping an errand tear with his thumb.

 

“He is after you,” the reverend continued.

 

He produced a wooden crucifix from one of his pockets, clutching the instrument with trembling fingers as he raised his hands in the air.

 

“My good friends,” Reverend Palpatine cried out at the congregation. “Esteemed citizens of Sleepy Hollow,” his voice boomed as if in the middle of a sermon drawing the attention of some of the armed men. “We will not be safe until the Horseman has vanquished van Tekka from this world.”

 

Mr. van Tekka stepped up on the dais, standing in front of a large window. “Stop this nonsense, Reverend Palpatine,” he demanded. “We do not know what the Horseman wants.”

 

Ben’s eyes darted from one man to the other, paralyzed as he witnessed the exchange. “Lies,” he heard Rey whisper as her cheek rested against his heartbeat, her gaze fixed upon the reverend. “My father is innocent.”

 

“I know.” Ben placed a kiss on the crown of her head. “I believe you.”

 

Reverend Palpatine, however, was relentless, his wails drawing the attention of the crowd. “We can only thrive if van Tekka is dead,” he exclaimed, waving his crucifix as if he were blessing the congregation. “I am but a frail man, but you,” he pointed the object at the audience, “you, my dear brothers and sisters, can stop him.”

 

Murmurs reverberated through the church, a mixture of doubts and convictions.

 

“The Horseman demands a sacrifice,” Reverend Palpatine continued, his voice booming despite his alleged frailty. “And he has chosen Lor van Tekka.”

 

“No,” the man in question said, pulling a pistol from his coat. “No, he has not.”

 

He aimed the pistol at the reverend and shot him in the head.

 

 

~*~

 

 

When Reverend Palpatine’s lifeless body crashed on the wooden floor, madness seized the congregation.

 

The Horseman lay all but forgotten outside the church, as the armed men aimed their weapons at each other, dividing themselves into two distinct camps.

 

Soon enough, the men started shooting their rivals, one side intent on upholding the reverend’s words, the other intent on defending Mr. van Tekka’s position. The children gathered in the congregation sobbed and sought refuge in their mothers’ arms, crowding in between the pews in search of shelter.

 

“Come,” Ben whispered in Rey’s ear, shielding her with his body as they hid in one of the corners of the church.

 

“My father,” she gasped, looking over her shoulder, her worried gaze colliding with his like a wave crashing on a cliff.

 

Ben nodded, turning around to look for Mr. van Tekka. He spotted the old man easily, still standing on the dais in front of a large unbroken window. Rey’s father clutched his gun with trembling hands, horrified at what he had just done, his eyes tearing up at the sight of the reverend’s dead body.

 

Crashing into agitated people, Ben made his way to the front of the church, intent on stopping the madness which had descended upon the villagers. Gunshots impeded his progress, constantly forcing him to cower so that he wouldn’t get shot by accident.

 

Soon enough, Ben reached the halfway point of his journey and, what happened shook him to the core, waves of nausea gurgling at his throat.

 

A wooden spike tied at the end with thick rope broke through the glass window like a spear, its sharp tip aimed true. The spike wedged itself in Mr. van Tekka’s heart, coating the wood in his blood as it emerged through his chest.

 

The congregation stilled then, as men dropped their weapons in shock and disbelief, and the women gaped as their hold on the children tightened.

 

In response, an invisible force pulled at the rope, dragging the body out the broken window as if it were cattle.

 

Outside, a horse gave out an unholy neigh, proclaiming the identity of the murderer for all to hear.

 

Behind Ben, a woman’s scream reverberated through the church, so raw and disquieting it chilled him to the bone. Turning around, Ben’s gaze fixed itself on Rey’s trembling frame, swaying in the candlelight. Desperation poured through Ben’s movements as he made his way through the congregation, stepping on lifeless bodies to reach her.

 

In the end, Ben caught Rey in his arms, picking her up before she collapsed on the church floor.  

 

 

\--

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I can't believe I managed to get this chapter up. Editing it took forever because... I didn't realize I'd written so much smut lol. This was probably my favorite chapter to write, so I hope you liked it. Thank you so much for reading. I value all your comments and kudos, and they motivate me to keep writing. I'd love to hear your thoughts about this update/the story as a whole. <3 
> 
> Special thank you to @midnightbluefox for making a beautiful moodboard for the story (see above). I love it so much. <3


	7. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final countdown ta da da da TADA DA DA DA...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All tales must come to an end, unfortunately. Thank you so much to everyone who has supported this story. Your comments, kudos, messages and encouragements have all helped me tremendously. I hope you enjoy the last chapter as well, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts. Guest comments are also enabled btw. ;) Thank you to @reylocalligraphy for the special gift, which will be revealed at the end muahahaha.

\-- 

 

 

Silence descended upon the village as the survivors poured out of the church, too stunned to contemplate the tragedy wrought upon their once peaceful home.

 

Ben carried Rey’s unconscious body to the empty manor, braving the darkness as soon as the Horseman had departed with his prey. His troubled thoughts weighed heavily upon him as they neared the old house, and Ben’s large frame shivered in the cold night despite his warm greatcoat. Nevertheless, he continued trudging through the mud, holding Rey in his arms as he advanced. Stopping for rest was the furthest thought from his weary mind, too focused on the pressing need to take his beloved to safety.

 

The entrance door opened with a loud creak. Soon enough, Ben found himself climbing the old wooden stairs, his eyesight adapting well to the unsettling darkness which reigned inside the manor. He found Rey’s chamber with ease and pushed the door open with his right foot. The worn leather boot connected with the heavy wooden door just enough to grant him entrance into the large chamber, bathed in the pale and forlorn light of a weakened moon.

 

Pausing only briefly to place a kiss on the crown of Rey’s head, Ben crossed the threshold as if he were a groom carrying his new bride – though the circumstances of their departure from church differed tremendously from what was traditionally expected. There were no cheers to usher in the promise of a tranquil life, no blushing bride and bridegroom fumbling with their burdensome clothes under the pristine bedcovers – desperate to consume their sacred union in between heated kisses and hitched breaths.

 

After he lowered Rey on the large bed, Ben lit a small lamp and placed it on her nightstand, casting the bedchamber in a flickering light. He looked around, glimpsing a few pieces of firewood in one of the corners of the room, right next to the brick fireplace. A metal poker lay wedged in the ashes of the hearth as if beckoning him to start a fire, though Ben felt too warm following the most recent events to even consider it.

 

Weary from such an exhausting day, Ben took in Rey’s appearance. Her pale visage stood out to him the most, the hardships of the last couple of weeks visibly etched on her lovely features. Her breathing was labored, the mercy of oblivion offering no peace and safety in this trying time.

 

Sitting at the edge of her bed, he took her small hands in his and kissed her knuckles, feeling incredibly weak and inept as his lips touched her cold and damp skin. A tear rolled down his cheek, as thoughts of how he could spare Rey from her father’s fate formed in his mind, spreading from somewhere in the depths of his bruised soul.

 

“Will the Horseman follow us if I took you away from here?” he wondered out loud, pushing an errant lock of hair away from her forehead, the tips of his fingers brushing her pallid skin. “I should have done that from the beginning if I hadn’t been so foolish.”

 

He lowered his head, chastising himself for what felt like the hundredth time. Though he knew the endeavor was pointless now, with so many deaths threatening the very fabric of their existence. Dwelling on past regrets, Ben realized, did nothing to soothe Rey’s soul or his own. It would never solve any of the difficulties which plagued them at present, poisonous thorns wedged deep into their tender flesh.

 

Getting to his feet, Ben strode to Rey’s window, opening it to let the night air clear his head. He regarded the ugly oak tree in front, its thick and gnarly branches reaching so close to the windowsill it was a miracle they had not pierced the fragile glass already. Nonetheless, the oak retained its solemn state, as if summoning Ben to an unknown place to grant him all the answers he sought – teasing him with the weight of his desires, hopelessly trapped by the misery of his predicament.

 

They would leave, he decided then. Leave Sleepy Hollow and never return. Pray the Horseman’s reach did not extend beyond the darkness of this cursed village.

 

“Ben?” he heard her weak voice then, and he moved away from the window.

 

Taking her hands in his, Ben once more sat at the edge of the bed, his eyes never once leaving her pained countenance and the tears that soiled it. After he brushed her tears away with his thumb, Ben kissed her pale and trembling lips. He poured all his affection into the small gesture, drinking in Rey’s sorrow as if he could extract the poison it spread so effectively through her body.

 

“When will it end?” Rey asked when her tears subsided, her voice spent and empty. “Will the Horseman come for me next?”

 

“I won’t let him take you,” he promised, caressing her wan cheek with his hand, so small under the size of his palm.

 

Once upon a time, the wretched demon had taken everything from him, too dangerous to be stopped by the strength of a powerless child. But now, Ben mused as he looked upon Rey’s distressed visage, he was a grown man – aware not only of his enemy, but of his own inner strength.

 

As a boy, he’d failed to protect the mother he treasured. But now, as he neared the end of his twenty-ninth year – conscious of his purpose, and of the danger that loomed over the woman whose existence shone light upon the gathering darkness – Ben knew that to lose Rey would be a fate worse than death. He’d survived the deaths of his family, holding onto the chance that their tormentor would be apprehended, the demon’s life stripped away as brutally as the souls he had slain.

 

But if Rey died as well…

 

“We will leave Sleepy Hollow as soon as possible,” he said, determination carved into every syllable.

 

“The villagers will blame me now,” Rey told him instead, “and if I leave this place, their suspicions will be validated. We’ll never be safe.”

 

“We will,” Ben insisted, his words impassioned and determined. “What these villagers say is of no consequence.”

 

Rey took his hand in her own, placing it over her chest. She squeezed his fingers as if she feared losing him and, as Ben looked into her eyes, he recognized the same loneliness he had once felt as a child. The memories of his lost family sprung to his mind in an instant, old images of a terrified child with no soul to turn to for guidance.

 

“You are not alone, Rey,” Ben told her as his gaze bore into hers. Tears welled in his eyes, and he blinked them away so that they wouldn’t cloud his vision. “We have each other now.”

 

“Is that how you felt,” she wondered, her voice a frail whisper, “when you saw Snoke kill your mother?”

 

Nodding, he caressed her cheek with his free hand. “I am so sorry, Rey. I wish I could have prevented everything that happened here. I wish I could have spared you from harm.”

 

“There was nothing you could have done, Ben,” she said. “Whoever controls the Horseman is in control of our fates as well.”

 

Ben shook his head. Hope bloomed in his chest, spreading its petals like a spring flower. “Not if we leave. If we leave, we will control our destiny. Shape our future the way we want it to be.”

 

“What happened here will follow us regardless of where we go,” she replied, letting go of his hand as her own fell limply to the side. “I will be tainted in the eyes of everyone we meet.” A bitter smile followed, withering the bloom thriving in his heart. “Flawed and imperfect.”

 

Taking her limp hand in his own, Ben pressed it to his lips. “That does not change who you are, Rey. It doesn’t alter the beauty of your soul.”

 

He smiled then, just as a tear rolled down his cheek, coating his skin with its moisture. “You once asked me not to look at you as if you were an angel. Do you still remember that?”

 

Rey nodded, and Ben saw how her eyes sparkled as the memory came to her – a moment not unlike the one they now shared.

 

“I don’t see you as an angel, Rey,” he continued, his words uttered with conviction. “I see you as a flawed and imperfect woman, and I love you as you are. I know your present life and its struggles, and I want to share your burdens, just as you have shared my own.”

 

“Oh, Ben.” She was crying now, incessant tears trailing down her cheeks. But her eyes crinkled at the corners, and Ben saw a seed of hope take root in the depths of her hazel orbs.

 

“I lay claim to your endless and powerful imperfections,” Ben promised as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against her own. “Just as you have claimed mine.”

 

He kissed her then, uniting his soul with hers in an offering of endless love and devotion. As his eyelids fluttered closed, he sensed her arms wrap around his frame, pulling him close in wordless encouragement. Parting Rey’s lips with his own, Ben tasted her, drinking in her sighs and taking her sorrows with him as she had done before, when he had unleashed his burdens in wait of judgement.

 

But no judgement came from either. Their touches were filled with sheer acceptance and affection. Their lips soothed each other as they melted in a passionate embrace, in the fruitful search of blissful completion.

 

A loud noise downstairs pulled them away from each other, and they gasped as if they were suffocating. Heavy steps advanced up the stairs, and the wooden steps creaked under the unnatural weight.

 

Pulling Rey to her feet, Ben stood up, just as the door to her bedchamber opened with a loud bang.

 

The Horseman stood in the doorway, sword pointed at his final prey.

 

 

~*~

 

  

Ben stepped forward, shielding Rey with his body, .

 

“The window,” he whispered, looking over his shoulder just as the Horseman prepared his advance.

 

Rey dashed to the open window, her steps reverberating through the small bedchamber.

 

Taking advantage of the distraction, Ben lunged for the metal poker wedged deep in the ashes of the extinguished fireplace. He intercepted the Horseman, and the two weapons clashed in a fierce duel. The metallic sounds pierced the dead night louder than the shrill wind coming through the window, and Ben gasped at the sheer strength of the creature’s movements.

 

The Horseman was unnaturally strong, a creature of death and darkness molded to bring forth misery and distraction. As they fought, Ben knew he would lose this fight despite his own abilities and training. Only the thoughts of Rey’s safety spurred him on to cling to his life, defending himself from the Horseman’s slashes with the metal poker as best he could. His mind was ruled by a sense of purpose, the hope to give Rey enough time to make an escape through the window. The thick and gnarly branches were, he knew now, her only salvation.

 

Soon enough, the Horseman overpowered him, knocking the thin weapon out of his hand. Stumbling to his knees, Ben sensed his untimely end approach, just as his mind was flooded with a maelstrom of regret and concern.

 

However, Ben did not close his eyes in fear. Instead, he fixed the Horseman with a piercing look, gazing upon the place where his head had once been. Even in his final moments, he was determined to thwart the creature’s progress.

 

As Ben prepared to meet his end, a lamp collided with the Horseman’s chest, setting his dirty uniform ablaze in a flurry of red and orange flames.

 

Ben turned to the side, only to glimpse Rey standing near the window, hair billowing in the wind. Her hand was still slightly raised, a look of sheer determination plainly etched on her countenance.

 

“Come on,” she said, lifting her heavy skirts to climb out of the window.

 

Wasting no time, Ben followed her, and soon they were both outside, climbing down the old oak tree with as much urgency as they could muster.

 

As their feet hit the ground, Ben paused to look up at the window.

 

Unbothered by the flames, the Horseman stood close to the window, looking down as if he could see them. With silent resolve, the creature raised his sword, his military uniform blazing in the darkness like a sinister omen. Ben felt Rey clutch his hand, and he gazed upon her in an unspoken agreement.

 

Running as fast as they could, Ben allowed her to lead him to the stables.

 

They saddled and mounted the first horse they could find and rode out into the darkness, leaving the van Tekka manor behind. Ben clutched the reins until his knuckles turned white from the effort, focused on completing the journey ahead, yet still mindful of the safety of the woman seated a breadth away from his chest.

 

As his beloved rested her head on his chest, Ben looked over his shoulder, trepidation wedged into the marrow of his bones.

 

The Horseman was gone, yet fiery curtains billowed in the wind.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Ben urged the horse on, his hands clutching the reins until they coated the leather in sweat.

 

Fire could not kill the Horseman, and so the creature pursued them with haste on his mount. In the darkness, he was a fiery headless demon atop a beast, moving with unnatural speed and agility. The unholy sight attracted the attention of the surviving villagers, yet none dared open their doors to assist, their faces glued to the windows as the horses galloped in the night.

 

Rey held on the horse’s saddle as they went, her hair billowing in the wind. “Can you lose him?” she asked as she turned to look at him over her shoulder, the movement slightly incumbered by their current speed.

 

“I can try,” came his reply, unable to fully commit to a promise despite the desperation bubbling in his chest.

 

The houses flew by them in a blur as the forest finally came into view. Ben maneuvered their mount with the small hope of losing their pursuer in the depths of the woods. The nearest hamlet was not that far away from their current location, and Ben prayed they could reach it in time to seek refuge.

 

Meanwhile, Rey served as his second pair of eyes, helping Ben dodge trees and low hanging branches that materialized from nowhere, unwilling to allow him to commit the same mistake.

 

Ben followed Rey’s lead, his grip on the horse’s reins strong and stable. But death was a formidable opponent, and Ben could still hear the Horseman in pursuit as his horse gallopped at an unyielding pace.

 

Soon enough, he glimpsed The Devil’s Fork in the distance. The ancient trident-shaped tree stood out in the gloomy night, silhouetted against the moonlight like a dark and terrible portent. Ben commanded the horse to gallop towards it, hoping the immediate clearing offered a possible escape route. With every passing moment, the tree grew nearer and nearer and, in due course, they sprung out of the thicket and stepped into the moonlight.

 

As they did so, the sight that awaited surprised Ben to the core. A chill washed over his frame as if someone had doused him in freezing water.     

 

Phasma van Tekka stood at the base of the old tree, an old cloth bag draped across her shoulder.

 

With a triumphant smile, she aimed a Charleville musket at them.

 

She pulled the trigger. 

 

 

~*~

 

 

The gunshot was deafening, hitting the horse right in the side.

 

The animal collapsed to his death, and Ben was sent flying, hitting the ground with a loud thud. He wobbled to his feet in an instant, ignoring the spikes of pain raking through his frame.

 

Clutching his left arm, his eyes wandered in search of Rey. He spotted her not far from him and rushed to her side as fast as his trembling legs could carry him.

 

He pulled his beloved to her feet, the pain in his arm forgotten. As Rey stood up she winced, gripping her side with her trembling hands. Concerned, Ben cupped her cheeks, tilting her head upwards to face him.

 

“Very touching,” Phasma van Tekka said in a mocking tone, aiming the musket at his chest as her hand rested on the trigger. “But not enough to impress me.”

 

“How did you –” the words froze on Rey’s lips as Phasma neared them, a lioness circling her prey.

 

“A body without a head is impossible to identify. You said so yourself, Mr. Solo,” she smirked, visibly pleased with her answer. “Surely you remember your meeting with Reverend Palpatine, and his dramatic retelling of Bazine’s death.”

 

The memory flashed before Ben’s eyes, realization hitting him so swiftly he almost dropped to his knees from the weight of its meaning.

 

“It was a most edifying experience,” Phasma assured him, though her poisonous gaze now rested on Rey’s face. “So many of our servants left us, that it was easy enough to kill someone who resembled me enough to trick you, my dear stepdaughter. I hope you do not mourn the loss of your maid.”

 

From the corner of his eye, Ben saw Rey’s breath hitch. He pulled her close to him, his hand resting on her elbow in comfort.

 

Turning her head in Ben’s direction, Phasma van Tekka smiled, the corners of her lips curling up with amusement. “You have done an admirable job, Constable Solo, but it seems your effort lacked finesse. That simpering maid was at least two inches shorter than me. Perhaps a more experienced inspector would have caught on sooner, but I suppose we shall never know.”

 

“So, you control the Horseman,” Ben said, his mind scrambling to find a way to escape this predicament before the headless creature’s arrival.

 

“Very good, Constable,” she cried out, the wind ruffling her blonde hair as she uttered the words with her sardonic tone. “Yes, I control him.”

 

She patted the cloth bag draped across her shoulders with her hand, before returning it to rest on the trigger. The movement did not distract Mrs. van Tekka at all, fully ready to aim and fire if he moved too suddenly.

 

“I have been controlling him from the very beginning,” she confessed. “From the moment I heard of his murder in these woods, I knew he would be useful to me and my work.”

 

At once, the moment when he had entered Phasma’s bedchamber appeared in Ben’s thoughts. The rational side of his mind now bristled at how easily he’d dismissed the spell books he had found there.

 

“Witchcraft is a very powerful tool, and I knew his head would come in handy one day.” Phasma’s eyes darted in Rey’s direction. “And that day has finally arrived. Soon, my dear stepdaughter, the Horseman will heed my summons and kill you.”

 

“Why?” Rey asked, his eyes narrowed, and the sheer strength radiating from her small frame awed Ben anew. Even when faced with certain death, she refused to cower. “Why are you doing this?”

 

“For your money and lands, my dear,” Phasma replied, her expression serious. “When you die, the combined van Hux and van Tekka fortunes will be mine, according to my husband’s will. When the Horseman slices off your pretty head, I will be a very wealthy woman.”

 

In the distance, Ben heard a horse neigh, followed by a silence so eerie that the blood in his veins chilled.

 

“You can have the money, Phasma,” Rey exclaimed. “I have no desire to claim anything. You don’t have to resort to murder.”

 

Rey’s stepmother laughed then, the sounds piercing through the forest like a knife. “I am afraid it is too late, my dear,” she proclaimed, strengthening the hold on the musket. “You already know the extent of my connection to the Horseman, and I wouldn’t trust you to keep my secret safe. I am not stupid.”

 

Mrs. van Tekka’s head tilted upwards, amusement still present on her pale countenance. “Not to mention, I do not like you very much, Rey. Your father always spoiled you exceedingly, and I always found it impossible to control you.” She shrugged. “It is a shame, really. I would have molded you in my likeness had you obeyed me, and I would have shared all these riches if you were the docile wench you were supposed to be.”

 

Ben stepped in front of Rey, protecting her with his body.

 

At last, the clues fell into place – shedding new light upon the doomed investigation, though the hour was late. Deductive reasoning had served Ben well… up to a certain point.

 

“Oh, Constable Solo,” Phasma cried out, as if he had just accepted an invitation for tea. “I almost forgot about you. Unfortunately, you shall not live very long either.”

 

Her grip on the musket tightened. “Like the young Jyn van Erso, you witnessed an exchange you should not have. Her mother was foolish to come to me with the news of Bazine Netal’s secret pregnancy, thinking I would be delighted by this piece of gossip.” She gave out a shrill laugh. “In fact, the news only urged me to concoct this brilliant plan.”

 

The leaves rustled under the weight of heavy steps, and a cold wind travelled through the forest clearing, swaying the menacing branches of the trident-shaped tree.

 

“Goodbye, Mr. Solo,” Phasma van Tekka pointed the weapon in his direction. “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

She pulled the trigger and aimed at his heart.

 

 

~*~

 

 

Ben collapsed on the hard ground just as the Horseman came into view.

 

The bullet’s impact knocked him on his back. His vision blurred until he could only see Rey’s silhouette, just as the headless creature neared her like a vision of death brought back from the fires of Hell. Rey squared her shoulders and lifted her chin up, defiance and strength pouring out of her veins as she stood to meet her end, refusing to shrink in front of such insurmountable odds.

 

Next to him, Phasma van Tekka turned away, laughing manically as the scene unfolded. With a loud voice, she urged the Horseman on, begging him to kill Rey and regain his head. Phasma, however, was far too busy savoring her imminent victory.

 

Ben swayed back to his feet, the bullet lodged into the thick notebook he always kept over his heart.

 

Staggering, he grabbed a decently sized rock and approached Phasma. She must have heard him then, for she tilted her head and looked over her shoulder with a horrified glance. However, Ben was much quicker, spurred by his own imminent victory and the need to protect Rey from a gruesome fate.

 

The rock collided with Phasma’s temple before she could raise her weapon to shoot. She collapsed on the ground in a graceless thump, crushing the golden leaves scattered on the forest floor.

 

In front of him, the Horseman pulled Rey’s hair until her knees gave in. She kneeled, refusing to scream as the evil creature raised his right arm, clutching his deadly sword in his hand. The blade was sharp and vicious, and the handle’s red stones gleamed mercilessly in the dead of night.

 

Desperation pouring through his veins, Ben grabbed Phasma’s cloth bag. His trembling fingers probed the outline of a skull, and he pulled out the head from its confinement.

 

As the Horseman drew his blade to strike, Ben screamed, the one syllable word breaking through the silence of the woods.

 

“Snoke,” he cried out, uttering the name with a voice that carried years of torment, a period when guilt had clawed at Ben’s heart like a beast.

 

The Horseman turned then, in an image not unlike the vision Ben had once glimpsed during their second encounter. As if sensing the object that he sought, the creature threw Rey to the ground like a rag doll.

 

Her hair fell over her shoulders like a waterfall, and relief washed over Ben at the thought that the vision had not brought about her end.

 

The Horseman sheathed his sword then, clear expectation etched in the practiced gesture.

 

When Rey rushed to his side, Ben threw the skull at the creature. The Horseman caught the precious object with both hands and, in an instant, he placed the skull on top of his neck.

 

As if by magic, black veins darted out of his throat, connecting the head to the rest of his body. The old skeleton head caught life, its bones covered by leathery skin as Ben looked into the undead eyes of his family’s tormentor.

 

Guided by his instinct, Ben pulled Rey in his arms, his palms brushing across her shoulder blades. In response, she rested her head on his chest, kissing the place where Phasma had shot him. A relieved sigh escaping her lips as his own heartbeat quickened.

 

If Snoke recognized him, he showed no signs. The small mercy pleased Ben just fine – determined as he was to rid the world of this evil creature once and for all, wishing to hasten its permanent return to the land of the undead.

 

The Horseman padded over to Phasma and picked her in his arms, sparing his audience no second glance. He summoned his horse, and the steed came quickly, emerging through the thicket with a neigh that unsettled the swaying branches of the Devil’s Fork.

 

Wordlessly, the creature placed the unconscious Phasma on the monstrous steed, her stomach resting on the rough saddle. Then, with haste and ease, the demon mounted his horse. As he grabbed hold of the reins, the ground shook, creating an opening in front of the trident-shaped tree.

 

Then, with a harsh command, Snoke urged the horse forward, and the animal sprinted in honest obedience.

 

The frightening steed went down the opening, carrying its undead master and his final prey.

 

Once the three were gone, the ground closed as if nothing had ever happened, seemingly content to bar the Gates of Hell for all eternity.

 

The softest breeze rustled the golden leaves, scattering them over the ground which had once parted to unleash misery upon the world. The leaves rustled in the cold night air, yet the sound they made was pleasant in a way, a strange sense of comfort carried over from their graceful movements through the solemn forest.

 

 _You did so well, my son_ , a dulcet voice whispered, led by the comforting sounds of the changing landscape.

 

 _We are so proud of you, Ben._ Two other voices swayed the tips of the inky hair, making themselves known to him at last.

 

At once, a serene feeling took root in the depths of Ben’s soul. The awareness of the voices he had not heard in over two decades brushed against his ears, soothing his trembling frame.

 

Three old and restless souls… now finally at peace.

 

“It is over,” Rey said as the wind stilled, and a tranquil silence settled across the forest. “He will hurt no one now.”

 

Ben nodded, knowing that, at long last, the innocents who had endured the Horseman’s wrath were now finally allowed to rest.

 

Tilting Rey’s chin up, he marveled anew at her bravery and strength, her sharp mind and her lovely visage. Deep and unwavering love blossomed in his chest, encircling his body and soul. Binding him to her for all eternity.

 

 _My love, my future wife_ , his mind sang a soothing melody, dispersing once and for all the dark shadows which had once threatened to consume him.

 

Ben’s gaze softened at the future which now lay ahead, and tears of relief welled in his eyes. He blinked them away, however, unwilling to allow them to blur his vision. Unwilling to prevent him from glancing upon the face of the woman he loved with all his heart – at last unimpeded by obstacles and circumstance.

 

“And now we live,” Ben said, his lips only a breadth away from hers, the promise of peaceful and loving future at last in their grasp.

 

“Yes,” Rey agreed before his mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss. “Now we live.”

 

 

 

FIN

 

 

 

Link [here](https://reylocalligraphy.tumblr.com/post/178350251803/reylo-fic-calligraphy-creature-of-darkness-by). Thank you! <3 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've made it this far, thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope you liked this chapter and the story as a whole. A lot of crazy things happened, so thank you for sticking with me on this journey. Please don't hesitate to leave kudos and comments. <3 You can find me on AO3 and tumblr (@bunilicious) if you want to chat.
> 
> Expect a new fic at some point tomorrow, as the authors of the Swolo fic exchange will be revealed (and one of my fics is among them). :P
> 
> Special thanks to @reylocalligraphy, who made the most amazing calligraphy for this fic!! I am in love! <3

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. "Sleepy Hollow" is a movie near and dear to my heart, as is Reylo, and I am very eager to share this story with you. I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments and, as usual, you can reach out to me on tumblr @bunilicious. Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my fic. The story is, as my previous fanfic, already complete, so you are definitely getting a really nice ending after all the drama and angst. :)


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